


Unraveled

by Megaerakles



Series: Unraveled [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Time Travel, BS Time magic, Betrayal, Canon Divergence, Chamber of Secrets, Change the Past, Don't Judge Me, Drama, F/M, Jealousy, Meddlesome Original Characters, Plots, Roundabout character death, Secrets, Suggestive Themes, Swearing, probably counts as a slow burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-09
Updated: 2017-11-24
Packaged: 2018-09-07 12:36:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 79,782
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8801101
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Megaerakles/pseuds/Megaerakles
Summary: Hermione is plucked from danger during the Battle of Hogwarts by a mysterious witch from the future and brought back to the year 1942. Her task is to prevent Tom Riddle from ever creating his Horcruxes. Can she navigate the politics and power struggles of Hogwarts in the 1940s, learn just how she's connected to the strange witch from the future who won't leave her alone, and keep up with an increasingly suspicious budding Dark Lord?





	1. The Battle of Hogwarts

**Author's Note:**

> So this is my first attempt at Fanfiction! It's going to be a multi-chapter Tomione. I know that the time-travel plot is overdone for this genre, but I think I've done something at least a bit different this time, so hopefully people won't find it too trite.
> 
> Also, I do not own anything Harry Potter related, it's all thanks to the wonderful J.K. Rowling

_May 2nd, 1998_

Hermione Granger was having a rather eventful day. First she’d raided Gringotts, then she’d flown on a the back of an actual dragon, and now she was participating in the all-out battle that Hogwarts had descended into. She and Ron had ended up separated from Harry in all of the chaos. On Ron’s suggestion, the two of them were heading towards the Chamber of Secrets to destroy the Horcrux in Hufflepuff’s Cup.

They made it to the second-floor corridor girl’s bathroom with only one Death Eater encounter, sustaining mild scrapes and bruises. Luckily Ron was able to get the Chamber entrance to open by mimicking the Parseltongue he had heard Harry use to open the locket after only a few tries. The two of them grinned at each other, and Ron awkwardly proffered his arm towards the hole in the wall.

“Erm, ladies first?”

Hermione rolled her eyes at his attempt at chivalry, before stepping forward into the slimy pipe. Then their good luck ran out; the door to the bathroom burst open with a loud bang. The pair of Gryffindors turned and saw a burly Death Eater facing them with his wand drawn. Ron didn’t hesitate; he shoved Hufflepuff’s Cup into Hermione’s hands, and not too gently pushed her into the pipe. She lost her balance and would have slid down the incline if she hadn’t grabbed onto a protruding brick at the last second. Twisting around, she saw that Ron and the Death Eater had begun a fierce duel.

She could tell that her best friend was outmatched; she quickly began pulling herself forwards, trying to go help him. But then, a strange hissing echoed through the pipe and the entrance started to rumble closed. She desperately scrambled up and lunged forwards, just in time to watch Ron be struck in the chest with an unknown curse as the last bricks slid closed.  

“Ronald Weasley, you had better be alive!” She screamed at the brick wall. “You’re going to pay for this!” Shaking with fear and anger, adrenaline coursing through her veins, she frantically searched for the lever that Harry had mentioned as his exit last time. She found it—a switch with a silver snake engraved in it— but when she pulled, it didn’t work. She kept tugging, but nothing happened. Finally, she resorted to hissing at it, trying to mimic the sounds Ron had made earlier, but to no avail. After about ten minutes of trying to get the door open, she sighed and turned away. She retrieved Hufflepuff’s Cup from where she’d dropped it, shivering a bit as she once again felt the harsh press of Voldemort’s soul piece brush against her magic. She carefully sat on her bum and allowed herself to slide down the expanse of the slimy metal pipe.

When the pipe leveled out and turned into a stone corridor, she shakily stood up and made her way through the cold and damp passageway. Every footstep echoed loud enough to make her cringe; in the distance, she seemed to hear the steady dripping of water. She suddenly remembered that there was another door that required parseltongue to open, and she was momentarily struck with panic at the thought of being stuck in this tunnel until she starved, no one knowing her whereabouts, never learning the outcome of the battle…. But to her great surprise, when she reached the next door it was already open. Perhaps it had been left open from when Harry was down here in Second Year?

She closed her eyes and tentatively stepped through it, reassuring herself that the basilisk was good and dead, that there was nothing in there that could harm her. As soon as she was through the doorway, the hissing of parseltongue echoed loudly through the large, hollow Chamber, and the doors behind her slid closed. Hermione peeled her eyes open and looked around wildly. She let out a sharp gasp when she saw that she was not alone.

A strange woman stood in the middle of the Chamber, watching Hermione with a strange smile on her face. Her hands were clasped in front of her body, and she was holding a long black wand loosely in one of them. She was slim, with very pale skin, dark curly hair, and brown eyes. Her pretty features didn’t look any older than Hermione’s, but something about her eyes held a certain amount of gravity. And more than that, she seemed to emanate an aura of… power. When she spoke, her voice was melodious.

“Good evening, Hermione.”

In a flash, Hermione’s wand was raised, pointing at this woman threateningly. For some reason, the strange witch seemed to find this amusing, as her lips turned up into a small smile.

“Who are you?” Hermione demanded. She wanted to appear strong, but her wand was shaking in her hand “How did you get down here? Are you a Death Eater?”

The woman suddenly laughed, a light tinkling of bells. “Oh goodness, no! Do I look like one of those fools? Faulty world-view aside, I can hardly imagine myself parading around in that ridiculous mask!”

“No,” Hermione admitted. In her mind flashed a quick comparison with the most prominent female Death Eater, Bellatrix Lestrange. With her wild hair, manic eyes, and lunatic laugh, Bellatrix couldn’t be further from this calm, collected woman standing before her. “I guess you seem much more… put together than they are. But then, are you with the Order?”

The woman grinned. Hermione almost would have called it a smirk, as if there were some joke that Hermione wasn’t in on. “The Order of the Phoenix, you mean? Then I have to say, yes, I am a member of that group, for whatever it’s worth.”

Hermione sighed in relief; this woman was an ally. But then she frowned; was she really going to believe the word of this stranger without any proof? What if she were trying to get Hermione to relax and let her guard down, for some reason? And she _still_ hadn’t explained what she was even doing in the Chamber of Secrets. “Are you really? I haven’t seen you around headquarters, and no one’s ever mentioned… Well, what is your name?”

The woman laughed again. “They call me Electra.”

“I’ve never heard of any Order member by that name.” Hermione said darkly, suspiciously. She narrowed her eyes and asked, “If you’re a member, you should be able to tell me where our Headquarters are.”

Electra winked at her. “Ah, but that secret was compromised by you and your little lion friends, was it not? Perhaps you should ask a different question.”

Hermione had had enough; clearly this woman was up to something, and Hermione wasn’t going to take it. She couldn’t take any risks right now. She cast a silent _petrificus totalus_ before the woman could react. As the bright blue jet of magic burst towards the strange woman, Electra tilted her head and watched the curse’s approach with a look of mild curiosity on her face. A split second before the curse would have struck her, Electra twitched her wand and it disappeared in a burst of silver light.

All Hermione could do was gape. How powerful was this witch if she could just… dissipate a curse like that? She’d barely moved her wand! And if this witch really was an Order member, why had she not been fighting before, with as powerful as she apparently was?

Rather than looking angry that Hermione had attempted to curse her, Electra looked amused. Perhaps a little pleased. “A fine curse, Hermione! I daresay that could have hurt me, if it had hit! And your caution will serve you very well in what’s to come. But in the future, or well, _your_ future, I might suggest more… discreet methods of allaying your fears. Battlefield reactions just won’t _do_ where we’re going.”

Hermione blinked at her, aghast. “What do you mean? There’s a battle going on right now!” That brought Hermione’s mind back to what was going on upstairs. _Ron_ . And _Harry_ . She had to destroy the damn Horcrux and then go find out what was happening to her friends! “I’ve got to get back there!” She said urgently. “If you’re _really_ an Order member, then help me destroy this cup and then get out of here! They need us!”  

“Hermione, Dear, I promise that I will explain everything in due time.” For some reason, Electra stopped to snicker here, before continuing, “But for now, we really must get out of here; this Chamber won’t be safe for long. _He’ll_ come down here to look at the skeleton of his basilisk, and that’s an encounter I would much rather avoid.”

Hermione’s eyes widened and she took half a step backwards. Nothing  “Go _away_? But—I can’t go! I need to destroy this Horcrux, and then I need to get back upstairs! I need to help my friends!”

“Of course you do,” Electra said, her voice growing more impatient. “And I wish to help with that! Just—come over here! I _promise_ , everything will make sense!”

Hermione then noticed that the strange witch was standing in the center of a circle of runes carved into the Chamber floor. She squinted, trying to make out what was written. It had been a while since she’d done any Ancient Runes work, seeing as she’d had to skip out on her this year of Hogwarts, but she was still very surprised when she realized that she didn’t recognize over half of the runes written. The ones she did recognize were just the generic spell-stabilizing ones.   

“What are you doing? What are those runes?” She asked suspiciously. She took a small step back, her wand still held out before her, her hand still trembling a bit.

“ _Merlin,_ Hermione, I’m not going to hurt you!” Electra exclaimed, her voice exasperated. “Look, I didn’t want it to come to this, but we’re running out of time, so you’ve left me no choice!” The other with raised her own wand and pointed it at Hermione.

For a moment, nothing happened, and Hermione frowned. But then, she was suddenly overcome with a soft, warm feeling. _Step into the circle, Hermione_ a voice whispered in her head. Hermione’s feet obeyed almost without her consent… _That’s it_ …. Obedience was so pleasing, she was so warm…. _Just a bit further_ …. She was at the edge of the runic circle….

“No!” Hermione blinked as she realized that Electra had put her under the Imperius curse… _Nonverbally_ ? “You are _definitely_ not an Order member!” She accused the other witch, moving to step away. Electra’s hand shot out and grabbed Hermione’s wrist. Her grip wasn’t rough, but it was firm. Hermione tried to twist out of it, but the slight woman was surprisingly strong. She tugged Hermione so that she was fully standing in the runic circle, which started to glow, emitting a silvery light.

“We certainly can’t bring _this_ with us,” Electra said lightly as she wrenched Hufflepuff’s Cup from Hermione’s grasp and tossed it out of the circle, into the pool at the base of the statue. “And you’ll need this as well.” Electra produced what appeared to be a necklace with three small pearls hanging on a golden chain. With one hand, she twirled it around Hermione’s throat, and when she let go, it remained on, as if she’d cast a Permanent-Sticking Charm.

Hermione hadn’t ceased her struggling. “What are you doing? What do you want with me?”

Electra ignored her, smoothing one hand over the necklace and nodding in satisfaction. “There, that should hold. Alright, Dear, we’re ready to go! I’d recommend closing your eyes now. This next part can get a little overwhelming.”  

Before Hermione could do anything else, Electra closed her eyes, and the silver light burst out of the runes on the floor, filling the air around them in a dazzling, hazy cloud, and engulfing both of their bodies.

Hermione screamed as the light grew brighter and brighter, filling all of her senses—bright, blinding blue—the roar of the ocean in a seashell—springtime and melting snow—the metallic tang of foil stuck to a piece of candy—She felt it covering her, pushing lightly on her skin; it wasn’t hurting her, but it wasn’t embracing her either, it was almost testing her, feeling her out. Then, all at once, it faded, and she was left dizzily blinking, with lights dancing before her eyes. They were still in the Chamber, but for some reason, it felt… different. Like the spell had shifted something. When she took in a steadying breath, something about the air tasted… bitter.  

Electra finally released her arm and stepped away. She gave Hermione a pitying look as Hermione struggled to find her bearings. “I told you to close your eyes, didn’t I?”

Hermione stared at her, unsure about what just happened. As the spots faded and she regained her balance some, she glared at the other woman. “What did you just do to me? Who are you? What’s going on?” She wanted to appear threatening, so she held up her wand again, although she suspected that this powerful witch would be able to easily avoid any survive any attack Hermione might make.

Electra, of course, was not frightened at all. She spoke in soothing tones. “Calm down, dear, the battle’s far away now. We’re much safer now. Although, we _should_ get a move on. I’d rather not piss off the basilisk today.”

Hermione’s stomach twisted as she realized that there was something drastically different about the chamber: the large basilisk skeleton that had been around Slytherin’s statue was now gone. Beyond that, everything about the Chamber seemed a little bit… off. Less damp, less moldy. “What do you mean, the basilisk? Harry killed it years ago! What did your spell _do_?” Did it somehow bring the monster back to life? No, that was impossible!

The woman sighed. “Well, that’s no longer true. Harry Potter hasn’t killed the basilisk yet. In fact, Harry Potter hasn’t even been born. This circle of runes is a time-gate, and we just traveled back. It is currently June 21st, 1942. Right around midnight.”

Hermione froze. Blood roared in her ears and the room before her seemed to swim for a moment. “What did you say?” She whispered.

“You heard me, Hermione. It’s 1942.”

“N-No, that’s…That’s not possible.” Hermione shook her head. “It’s _1998_.”

Electra just shrugged. “It is as I say; I’ll explain more when we get of here. I’d rather not have to carry you out of here petrified, and if we keep talking, the basilisk will get curious. Now come, there’s a tunnel to the Forbidden Forest this way.” She turned and started walking away from Hermione, towards a large stone arch leading deeper into the Chamber.

Hermione stared after her, still frozen in her disbelief. “But we can’t… We can’t suddenly be _fifty-six_ years in the past!” She said desperately. “We—we didn’t even use a time turner!”

Electra paused and looked back at Hermione. “Please, dear, I promise, this’ll all make sense after I explain it. And we really _should_ be going! I’ve got a nice little cottage all set up for us, we’ll be perfectly safe there! You’ll like it, I’m sure! A nice hot bath, a cosy bed, a warm cup of cocoa? Just what you need after the year you’ve had! Then after we’re all calmed down and rational, we can go over this like adults.” Near the end of her speech, Electra’s voice took on a patronizing quality.  
Hermione wasn’t sure if she was more confused, terrified, or angry. But this woman’s annoyingly superior, condescending tones did nothing to help the matter. “Don’t talk to me like that!” She snapped, balling her fists. They were trembling with emotion. “I want to know what the _fuck_ is going on!”

Electra smirked. “All in good time, my dear, all in good _time_.”

Hermione stared at the witch, getting angrier and angrier until her vision was tinged red. Then, it all of the sudden, the emotion rushed out of her and she was left feeling deflated. Numb. She couldn’t get out of this Chamber the way she had come in, and if the witch was telling her the truth, then even if she did get out, she would be entering a version of Hogwarts from her past. It seemed that she had no choice left but to follow this stranger.

Electra grinned at her as Hermione started walking towards her. “Very good, dear, come along now!”

“This is kidnapping, you know.” Hermione hissed, glaring at the witch. “I don’t believe for a second that you’re really an Order member—you used an _Unforgivable_ on me! I certainly wouldn’t be cooperating if I had any other choice!”

Electra just shrugged, unaffected by the accusations. “Look, I’m sorry it had to be this way, but it was necessary. Any later, and you’d have been—” She cut her speech off with an abrupt shake of her head. “Never mind, It’s not important. Anyway, follow me. I promise I’ll explain this later.”

Hermione scowled, but followed after the strange, dark-haired witch through the twisting tunnels of the Chamber of Secrets. After a while of walking in silence, they came to a staircase, and Electra led her up and out. They emerged in an unfamiliar clearing in the Forbidden Forest.

The entrance slid closed behind them and Electra took Hermione’s arm, tugging her through the trees. After a minute, Hermione realized they were following a thin path. She started to ask Electra another question, but the witch cut her off with a sharp glance.

“This forest isn’t empty,” she whispered, before pulling Hermione through the trees even faster.

Soon enough, the trees opened up and they came to the edge of the forest, but not the part near Hogwarts grounds.

“There, we’re away from the Anti-Apparition wards,” Electra said, her voice pleased. She released Hermione’s arm and stepped away, before turning to face her proffering her hand.

“I think we got off on the wrong foot. I’m very sorry for doing all this without your permission, but I don’t want to force you to do _anything_ else. If you would take my hand, I’ll Apparate us to my safe house.”

Hermione scowled at the witch, but she really had no other options. “I hope you understand that I’ll require more proof than your word to accept that we’re really in the past,” she said frostily.

Electra nodded. “Of course. I’d expect nothing else. I’ll give you proof, an explanation, _everything_ , just come with me!”

Hermione sighed, and tentatively grasped Electra’s hand. The other witch smiled, and with a _pop_ , Hermione was pulled away into the pressure of Apparition.

 


	2. The Leaky Cauldron

_ August 27th, 1942 _

“Hermione, dear, what’s taking you so long? Our portkey activates in just a few minutes!” 

Hermione glowered towards the stairs that Electra’s voice had wafted up. Nearly two months of living in this  _ godawful  _ cottage with only that  _ conceited _ woman for company was really starting to grate on her nerves. 

She was standing in the part of the cottage that had been designated as her bedroom, packing the last of the items that Electra had given her into a school trunk. Hermione stubbornly refused to think of it as “her space” or these items as “her belongings.” She refused to belong to anything here—to this room, to Electra’s cottage, to the  _ fricking forties _ —it was wrong. She’d been ripped from her own timeline and thrown into one that was  _ incorrect _ . And she felt it almost every time she took a breath. 

Electra had explained that part, at least. Since Hermione was a temporal anomaly, the time stream was trying to reject her, to push her out. And part of that included a bit of difficulty breathing in this  _ wrong  _ atmosphere. If it weren’t for the pearl necklace that Electra had magically locked around Hermione’s neck the night she took her back in time, Hermione probably would have been pushed out of time altogether in the course of the spell that Electra had so  _ graciously  _ decided to work on her. As it was, Hermione was out of place, and the temporal environment was hostile to that. Electra suggested that if Hermione made more of an effort to “belong” to the forties, whatever that meant, then the time stream might overlook her, and perhaps she would breathe normally. But Hermione refused to change who she was to better suit the schemes of one of her new least favorite people. 

“Hermione!” She heard Electra climbing up the stairs. A second later, the woman appeared in the doorway with an impatient expression on her face. She looked a bit different from the night she’d taken Hermione; she now appeared to be in her late twenties or early thirties. It was the result of some sort of aging spell. For the purpose of her ridiculous plan, she would be posing as Hermione’s older cousin and legal guardian. Hermione wasn’t sure how well that was going to work; although their hair had a similar quality to the curliness, they still had different hair colors, skin tones, and facial structures. Electra brushed it off, saying people would assume that Hermione just took after the other side of the family. 

The other witch took in the pile of skirts, dresses, and stockings still strewn across the unmade bed, and the half-filled trunk sitting open on the floor. She groaned in exasperation. “Dear, what’s taking so long? I thought you were all packed up last night.” 

Hermione gave her a sour look. “I don’t know, maybe I’m just not that  _ motivated  _ to leave.” 

Electra sighed. “Oh, dear, I would have thought we’d have been past this by now! I mean, I explained your mission!”

Ah, yes. Her new “mission” that Electra thought Hermione would be delighted to undertake. So delighted, in fact, that she hadn’t even bothered to ask Hermione whether or not she would participate before going ahead and pulling her back in time! And as far as her “explanation” went… Hermione glowered. “You explained  _ some  _ of my mission. The parts that my ‘puny mortal mind’ could possibly comprehend.” 

The woman sniffed. “I never called your mind puny. Now  _ come _ , or do you wish to be late?” And then, of course, Electra realized what she had said and beamed wickedly, and Hermione braced herself for the inevitable time-time joke: “Although actually from now on, I think you’ll find yourself arriving rather  _ early _ !”

Electra’s poor taste in time-travel related humor had improved little from that first night, the only difference was that now Hermione actually understood it. But understanding did not lead to enjoyment. Hermione just scowled at Electra some more, before waving her wand once, sending all of the clothes from the bed into the trunk. They weren’t in very neatly, but she didn’t care. She stiffly moved her arms forward and slammed shut the lid of her trunk. Then she turned and stalked out of the room, leaving Electra to carry her trunk. The woman had made Hermione’s life extraordinarily difficult, and so Hermione made a point to do whatever she could to return the favor. 

Electra followed Hermione down the stairs, her trunk floating a few feet behind. “Now, dear,” She said bossily. “You must hold your own trunk while I set up the last of the anti-intruder wards. We don’t wouldn’t want any surprises waiting for us next June!”

Hermione’s eyes widened a bit. Electra hadn’t been very clear about how long they were going to stay in the past. She was planning on keeping her here until after  _ next June _ ?  

After Electra had finished with the wards, she beamed at Hermione and picked up an old muggle light bulb that had been sitting on the small kitchen table. That was their portkey. “Take hold, dear.” Electra said cheerfully. Hermione placed her hand on the glass bulb and threw Electra another sour look. The next moment, she felt a familiar tug in her navel and she quickly closed her eyes, not wanting to experience any more disorientation from the travel than she had to. 

When she opened her eyes, the two of them were standing on the street outside of the Leaky Cauldron, within the range of the wards that hid them from muggles’ notice. Electra strode inside with Hermione following. As Electra spoke to the bartender, a significantly younger version of Tom from her own time, Hermione looked around the familiar pub, begrudgingly curious to see how much or how little, it had changed in fifty years. Or how it would change, she supposed… Either way, it was a bit disorienting. The only difference she could spot was that some of the paintings on the walls would be updated sometime within the next five decades. 

Electra came over to Hermione and handed her the key to her room. Hermione had been surprised when Electra said they would not be sharing a room, but grateful. She would have at least some refuge from the overbearing woman. And even more when she got to Hogwarts…. 

She dropped her trunk off in her room and headed back downstairs to the pub. Electra had said they would meet for lunch after she had sufficiently warded both of their rooms, and so Hermione went ahead and claimed a table. She ordered lunch from the barman, and then leaned back in her chair. As she waited, she stared at one of the unfamiliar paintings on the wall, lost in thought and absentmindedly fiddling with the small pearls attached to her necklace….

The way Electra spoke of her mission made it sound simple, easy. She was to go undercover as a student at Hogwarts from the beginning of Tom Riddle’s fifth year, and prevent the creation of his Horcruxes. By doing so, Electra reasoned that his mind would remain intact, and he would never spiral into the mindset that led to the psychotic, villainous killer from Hermione’s timeline. His plans were still in their formative period, she explained, and she felt that even a slight… redirection at this important time would be enough to prevent the horror story that Hermione had come from. Hermione begrudgingly admitted that it was a decent plan, despite her suspicion that it would take more than a few hiccups in his Horcrux creation to get him over his obsession with immortality and tyranny. One thing she  _ didn’t  _ really understand was Electra’s insistence on dragging  _ her  _ into this whole mess. Electra just waved a hand and said that Hermione was the key to her plan. It was not a very straightforward answer. 

Another thing that Hermione couldn’t get her to explain was the point of Electra’s role in their “plan”. She was going to be posing as the temporary Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher at Hogwarts for the year, apparently to “keep an eye on Hermione and offer support”. To get that job, she’d had to do… something to Professor Merrythought, who should have been the teacher at this time. She also had to spend a good amount of time in the past creating the false personas the two of them were going to be using. Electra wouldn’t go into very many details about  _ how  _ she had done this, but had made Hermione memorize lengthy accounts of their “exploits” as darkness-fighting cousins. 

The biggest question Hermione had in all of this was  _ who  _ exactly Electra was. The other witch hadn’t explicitly said, but Hermione figured that she must be a figure from somewhere in the future of the timeline they had left. There was no other way she could have known so much about Hermione’s life. But whenever she pressed Electra on the subject, the woman just grew distant and brushed Hermione off, claiming, that there were certain things Hermione just couldn’t understand, to just leave it all to her, that she knew what she was doing. It was  _ maddening _ .  

“Excuse me, Miss.” A smooth male voice interrupted her thoughts. 

“Huh?” She jumped in surprise, almost spilling her drink, and gawked at the intruder. As she took in his smooth white blonde hair, high cheekbones, and graceful air, she instantly knew who he was. He could be no other than a Malfoy. Abraxas, if she was not mistaken. However, it would not do to reveal that she knew that. She was supposed to be the “new girl” after all. 

“I'm sorry, I didn't mean to startle you. I just couldn't help but wonder why a young lady such as yourself is unattended in such an establishment. I don't believe I have seen you before, Miss…?”

Hermione finally forced herself to regain some composure and schooled her expression into a polite smile. “Temple,” she said, giving him the fake surname she now shared with Electra. “Hermione Temple. And you are?”

“Abraxas Malfoy, at your service.” He held out his hand and Hermione reached up to shake it, but instead, he brought her hand up to his lips and kissed it gently, all the while studying her face as she watched him in surprise. “Very well, Miss Temple, now please tell me your escort is simply otherwise occupied at this moment, rather than absent.” 

Hermione blinked, unsure of how to react to his gentlemanly concern. She supposed that this was what forties custom dictated, especially for an aristocratic pureblood such as Malfoy. So she tried very hard not to be offended by the patronising undertone of the conversation and replied warmly, “Oh, don’t worry about me, Mister Malfoy. I'm here with my cousin. She’s just busy with something up in our rooms at the moment. I grew tired of waiting and decided to begin lunch without her.” 

“I see. Well, if I am not intruding, perhaps you would like some company? I too am waiting for someone, you see, and it would be an honor to relieve the tedium of your solitude.”

Hermione nearly scoffed at his flowery words. It was like he’d stepped out of the pages of some Victorian romance novel. Instead, she attempted a grateful smile and gestured to the chair across from her. “Of course, Mr.Malfoy. If it’s no trouble on your part, I would sincerely appreciate it. My cousin does have a tendency to lose track of time. I’ve no idea how long she’ll be.”  She cringed when she realized that if Electra had heard, her last two statements would have been taken as intentional time-travel puns. 

If she were going to keep track of Tom Riddle’s movements, she would need to have some connection to Slytherin House, and she doubted she could pull off being sorted there even if she wanted to. So if she could get Malfoy to like her (he was undoubtedly in Slytherin, as his son and grandson would be) then she would already be setting herself up in a good position for completing her mission. 

Malfoy smiled charmingly at her while he pulled out the chair and seated himself at the other side of the table. “Wonderful, Miss Temple! Now tell me, why have I never seen you before? You look about the age to be at Hogwarts, but I’m certain I would remember you if you were a fellow student.”

“Oh, you go to Hogwarts?” Hermione asked innocently. “That’s quite exciting! I’m transferring there this year, which is of course why we’ve never met. Before this, I’ve been travelling around Europe with my older cousin. She’s been teaching me.”

“Ah! How delightful! Yes, I go to Hogwarts. I’m actually one of the Slytherin Prefects. I’m going to be in sixth year. What year will you be joining?”

“Well,” Hermione shifted a bit in her seat, trying to look uncomfortable. “My education thus far has been a bit… unorthodox. I’m considered highly advanced in some areas, but there are other areas in which I have serious gaps. Even though I will be turning seventeen in just a few weeks, and should by age be in sixth year, the Headmaster and my cousin believe I should take fifth year and then take my O.W.L.s before attempting N.E.W.T level courses.” She furrowed her eyebrows and looked at Malfoy. “You don’t think the other students will mock me for that, do you?”

“No, of course not, Miss Temple!” Malfoy said soothingly. “I’m sure they’ll understand. If you don’t mind me asking, why have you decided to come to Hogwarts now? After all those years learning around Europe, I’d think that a traditional educational institution would seem tame in comparison.”

Hermione shook her head. “Oh no, I’m quite looking forward to it, actually. It will be quite the change of pace, but that will be a good thing. My cousin’s line of work does not exactly lead to a very stable lifestyle. And as for the timing, well, it’s just that— my cousin. She’s been offered a temporary teaching position at Hogwarts for this year.”

“Oh!” Malfoy’s eyes widened. “Do you mean that your cousin is Electra Temple, the temporary Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher?” 

Hermione nodded. “Yes, how did you know?”

Malfoy just shrugged. “My father is on the Board of Governors. He helped approve her appointment. Your cousin is quite an accomplished witch, you should be proud! Despite the tragedy that befell poor Professor Merrythought, I’m sure we are all quite blessed to have such an outstanding teacher for this term.” 

Hermione wanted to roll her eyes at his praise of “Electra Temple,” the persona that Electra had constructed for herself. Hermione knew that it had to be convincing, of course, but the extent to which the strange witch had gone to embellish her resume and create false records of her accomplishments to ensure her appointment was ridiculous. She’d created fake records of clearing out a werewolf colony in southern Greece, slaying a vampire brood in Romania, recovering lost artifacts from a wizarding tomb in Cyprus… The whole scenario was quite Lockhart-esque. And that comparison did Electra no favor in Hermione’s eyes.  

Instead of showing her disdain, Hermione just forced another benign smile. “Oh, of course! And it’s also lucky for me, I think. Part of me has always wondered what I’ve been missing out on all these years, and now I’m finally getting a chance to find out.” She frowned a bit when she realized she’d been doing much of the talking. Malfoy now knew much more about her than she knew of him. Was he doing this on purpose? Before he could ask anymore questions, she decided to ask one of her own. “What do  _ you _ think of Hogwarts, Mr. Malfoy?”

“Oh, it’s nice I suppose.” Malfoy said nonchalantly. “Then again, I’ve been attending for five years already. It’s bound to grow stale after that long. I’m sure you’ll be suitably impressed upon your arrival. It  _ is  _ quite grand, after all. But tell me, Miss Temple, just how much have you been involved in your cousin’s work?”

Hermione bit the inside of her cheek. Electra had suggested that she too should brag about their daring-yet-fictional exploits on the continent in order to better gain the respect of Riddle and his crowd, but Hermione balked at the thought of telling the sorts of glory-seeking lies that Lockhart had told. “I suppose I could be considered involved to some extent,” She said hesitantly. “I’ve always tried to learn from any opportunity that presented itself, and my cousin has been very supportive of that and always is very open about whatever project she is working on. But there are  _ some  _ things that would be inappropriate for me to be brought along to, as I still am a minor... “ 

It was a very vague answer, and she thought she might have seen his eyebrows scrunch together in frustration, but he quickly smoothed his features back into a genial smile. “Well, that sounds very… Proper. What sorts of things, exactly, have you—” 

“Abraxas.” Another male voice interrupted their conversation. Both Hermione and Malfoy whipped their gazes towards the newcomer. When she saw who it was, Hermione couldn’t stop herself from gasping in shock. It was all she could do to refrain from visibly trembling. The newcomer was a young man with dark, perfectly coiffed, silken hair, a straight nose, high and sharp cheekbones, and soft, full lips. He wore dark robes over what looked like Muggle clothes. Hermione had seen him once before, in the memory of a memory that Harry had shown her, in the hope that she would be able to make more sense of it than he. This was none other than the Dark-Lord-to-be, Tom Riddle himself. 

Malfoy also looked startled by Riddle’s sudden appearance. He turned a bit paler, and his voice shook slightly when he addressed him. “My Lo—Riddle.” He’d been about to call Riddle ‘My Lord,’ Hermione noted. That must mean he was already a member of the proto-Death Eathers. “I didn’t see you arrive! I thought you weren’t due until two.”

“It’s five past.” Riddle said cooly. He wasn’t looking at Malfoy anymore; instead, his eyes were trained on Hermione, sweeping over her features, taking in her appearance. His face was blank and emotionless. “I see you’ve made a new friend.” 

“Riddle, may I present Miss Hermione Temple. She will be joining fifth year at Hogwarts this term. Her cousin is Professor Temple, the substitute for Merrythought. Miss Temple, may I present Mr. Tom Riddle. He will be in your class. He is also a Slytherin Prefect.” 

Riddle was still eying her suspiciously, and didn’t offer his hand, which Hermione was grateful for. She doubted she would be able to stop her hands from shaking if she removed them from her lap. She couldn’t bring herself to speak, either, and so the two of them stared at each other for a long, tense minute. Finally Riddle seemed to come to a decision and plastered a charming and obviously fake grin on his features. 

“It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Miss Temple,” he said in a smooth and silken voice. 

Hermione gulped. She couldn’t tell whether or not Riddle had decided she was worth his time or not. “Likewise.” 

“Your cousin is going to be teaching Defense against the Dark Arts?” Riddle asked slowly. Hermione nodded. “Are you very familiar with that subject, then?” 

Malfoy spoke eagerly, still looking up at Riddle. “Miss Temple was just telling me about the extent to which she’s been involved in her cousin’s activities on the continent.” 

“Oh?” Riddle piqued an eyebrow at his follower. “And what extent is that?” 

Malfoy fidgeted a bit and looked back at Hermione. “She was just about to explain.” 

Now both boys were looking at her expectantly. Hermione shifted uncomfortably in her seat. “Well I’ve done  _ some  _ things of course,” she started lamely. 

Riddle raised both eyebrows. “Such as?”

Hermione took a breath, deciding that she had to commit to the lie. “For instance, I’m sure you’ve heard of my cousin’s battle with the werewolf pack in Southern Greece? I was there for that, everything except for the final raid on their den. I personally encountered two different werewolves.” Well, that part wasn’t a lie: Lupin and Greyback. 

“Hm.” Tom seemed unimpressed, and for some reason, that irked Hermione. She decided to up the ante. 

“I was a bit more involved when she was working on sealing that Dark Wizard’s tomb in Cyprus, but only because I decided to sneak after her when she went to actually enter the tomb.” She tried to look guilty yet smug, the same attitude Harry and Ron would always have after they’d snuck around the castle at night. “I really didn’t think it fair that she would keep me out of it, not after I’d been the one to make the breakthrough on the Runic wards in the temple floor.” Hermione glanced towards the stairs, trying to appear furtive, and then leaned in conspiratorially. “Don’t tell her I told you that, though. Officially, she got the credit for that. It wouldn’t really look good if word got out that her underage cousin decoded the inscription that had stumped her and so many other intelligent witches and wizards before her.”

Malfoy looked impressed at her ( _ ugh _ ) boasting. Her very  _ Lockhart  _ style of boasting, seeing as she was claiming a story that didn’t even belong to her. Riddle, however, was still staring at her impassively, much to her chagrin.

“That does sound quite exciting, Miss Temple!” Malfoy said. 

“Is your cousin with you, then?” Riddle said, apparently having no comment on her tales of glory and claims of heroism. 

Hermione gritted her teeth, but didn't want to look too closely at her reaction to this. Instead, she sighed and nodded. “Yes, Electra is busy upstairs. She and I are staying here for the week until school starts, so that I can get my supplies and reacclimate myself to this region.” 

“How exciting!” Abraxas exclaimed. 

“If you say so.” Riddle drawled. “Abraxas, I hate to be a bother, but we really  _ must  _ be going now. I'm sure you can pick up this  _ thrilling  _ discussion at a later time.” 

If Hermione didn’t already hate and fear this boy for what he would one day become, she was certain that she would have, based on this encounter, disliked him immensely. He was haughty and arrogant, bordering on rude. Perhaps he only used his legendary “charm” on Professors and those he considered useful. 

Malfoy shifted under Riddle’s gaze. “Miss Temple, forgive me, but I have promised Mr. Riddle that I would accompany him in Diagon Alley today. He too is acquiring his school supplies.”

“Yes, I have much in common with your new little friend,” Riddle snapped. He glanced at Hermione again, an impatient scowl on his features. “I’ll tell you what, hurry and say your farewells and I’ll go ahead and meet you by the entrance to the Alley.” Without saying another word to Hermione, Riddle swept by them and towards the bag of the pub. 

“He seems charming.” Hermione said dryly after he was out of earshot. 

Malfoy cleared his throat uncertainly. “Hm, yes, well. Riddle’s a bit… Touchy, sometimes, but he can be quite pleasant if he wants to be. I don’t want you to get the wrong impression!” The blond said hurriedly. “He’s probably just having an off day, summers are never very fun for him, you see. I’m sure that next time you meet he’ll live up to the standards of his badge and our house!”

Hermione smiled thinly. Malfoy’s assurances were quite unnecessary; Riddle could have been a perfect gentleman to her and it still wouldn’t have helped. Social niceties only go so far when you’ve got the blood of thousands of innocents on your hands. 

“It’s quite alright,” She said, trying her best to sound unoffended. “I’ve had bad days, too.”

Malfoy nodded, looking relieved. “Well, on that note, Miss Temple, I’m afraid I must bid you  _ adieu _ . Riddle doesn’t appreciate being kept waiting.” 

Hermione smirked. No, Voldemort was not known for his patience. She quickly turned her smirk into a smile. “Well, we can’t have that, now can we? It’s certainly been a pleasure, Mr. Malfoy. I suppose I shall see you at Hogwarts.”

“Likewise, Miss Temple.” He reached for her hand and bent to kiss at again. “The pleasure’s all mine.” And with that he was gone, leaving Hermione to stare after him. 

She’d just survived her first encounter with not only a budding Death Eater, but Lord Voldemort himself. 

And neither of them seemed suspicious. If anything, Malfoy seemed to have been… intrigued and Riddle, indifferent. That certainly was better than the alternative, she supposed. 

Perhaps she would be able to survive this foray into the past, after all. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So that's it for now. Hope you enjoyed it! I've got more, but I'll hold off on posting for a while. Next chapter is from Tom's perspective, though so I'll probably be too excited to hold off for too long :) Anyway, let me know what you think!


	3. Diagon Alley

Tom Riddle tapped his foot impatiently as he stood in front of the brick wall that separated the Leaky Cauldron from Diagon Alley. Really, what was Malfoy’s idea, keeping him waiting so he could talk to some chit? Keeping _him_ waiting. He, Lord Voldemort, future ruler of the wizarding world! It was an outrage. If they didn’t have something terribly important to do today, he would consider putting the fool under the _Cruciatus_ curse for a while. It had been quite a long summer without doing magic, and his fingers were almost itching to grab his wand and torture someone again. And given Malfoy’s lack of proper respect today, he certainly could use a reminder of his Lord’s power…

“My Lord.”

Tom sneered at Malfoy, who’d come up beside him. “Finally. I suppose it must have been painful to tear yourself away from your new girlfriend, then?”

Malfoy was staring down at the ground, suitably ashamed of himself. _Good_. “I’m sorry, My Lord.” He said softly. “I was merely attempting to ascertain whether or not she might be… of use to you.  I hadn’t meant to waste your time until I knew more.”

“Yes, well, you did.” Riddle snapped as he tapped on the bricks with his yew wand. He thought back to the plain, nervous girl who’d been so desperate to impress him that she’d made up some see-through story about breaking centuries old runic description. “Why would you think someone like _that_ could be of _any_ use to me?”

The entrance to Diagon Alley appeared before them and pocketing his wand, Riddle strode through. He let himself breathe deeply, just once. Finally, he was out of that filthy muggle orphanage and back in the wizarding world where he belonged.

Malfoy followed in step behind him. “Well her cousin is quite accomplished, and she’s said that she herself has had numerous encounters with Dark Creatures, so she must have some degree of talent—”

Tom scoffed. “Please! She was clearly lying about all that. I doubt she’s any more spectacular than the next witch, and is really just fortunate enough to be related to someone like Electra Temple. She’s really not worth my time, or even _yours_ for that matter. She’s not even been sorted yet! Watch her turn out to be nothing more than a worthless Hufflepuff or an idiotic Gryffindor!”

Malfoy didn’t say anything else as the two of them wove through the crowd, towards the shops they needed to purchase supplies at. Riddle thought he had dropped the subject and allowed his mind to wander over their plans for the day after they’d acquired the necessary supplies… he was certain they would be able to acquire the book he was seeking, Nott had said he’d spotted it in Knockturn Alley…. But as they entered it the Apothecary, Malfoy asked, “You think she was lying?”

It took Tom a moment to remember what the pureblood was talking about. When he did, he gritted his teeth in frustration. “Yes. I can always tell when people are lying to me, remember? I didn’t even need to _Legilimens_ her, she was practically an open book! Now could we _please_ stop talking about her? I thought I said I didn’t want to waste any more of my time!”

“Of course, My Lord, I apologize.” Malfoy said calmly. Then, “Shall I go ahead and refill your potions ingredients for you? The highest quality of everything, of course.”

Tom sneered. “If it would make you happy. There’s something else I want to look for anyway.”

Abraxas nodded and went over to the counter and began to point out to the attendant what basic supplies Tom was running low on. When his richest follower had offered to foot the bill for Tom’s school expenses this year, he’d quite graciously agreed to allow it. He certainly wouldn’t mind forgoing the second hand supplies he’d been forced by necessity to use since his first year. And given that Malfoy had failed him so spectacularly last year, he really did owe Tom.

Of course Malfoy had made it clear he would be more than delighted to purchase _whatever_ Tom might desire even beyond the necessary school supplies, and so Tom was going to make full use of this opportunity. For example, as he perused the back of the store where the rarer potions ingredients were kept, his eyes were drawn to a small vial of dragon’s blood with a price tag of 25 Galleons. It was a bit extraneous, as he didn’t really have any plans for it right now, and if he’d truly needed dragon’s blood he was perfectly capable of sneaking it from Slughorn’s office, he didn’t _need_ to own any. But when he thought of Abraxas’ share of the family gold, tucked into the deep recesses of Gringotts, and compared that to the meager pouch of coins that the school board gave him as an allowance every year, he was driven by indignation and fury to take one of the bottles. After a moment’s thought, he grabbed two.

He sauntered over to the counter where Abraxas and the attendant were finishing arguing over the ingredients Tom needed. Abraxas glanced up as Tom approached.

“Ah, Riddle, we’re just about done. Did you find anything else?”

Tom smirked and set the vials of dragon’s blood on the counter. “I’d like these.”

If Malfoy had any reaction to this, he hid it well. He smiled up at the shop attendant. “Alright, add two vials of dragon’s blood to the package, and I think that should do it.”

The attendant nodded and added the vials to the parcel. Malfoy pulled out his pouch of gold and without batting an eye counted out almost a hundred Galleons and handed them to the attendant. While this was happening, Tom inspected the rest of the ingredients Abraxas had procured. He’d gotten much more and much higher quality ingredients than Tom would normally buy. Good, Tom deserved to be treated with such respect. He was pleased that after years of working on his fellow Slytherins, they were finally started to act properly. And it hadn’t taken long to start paying off; Between Malfoy and the Black heirs he’d managed to pick up, Tom doubted he’d ever have to worry about something as mundane as _funding_ for his plans ever again. He probably wouldn’t even need to get a real job once he was out of school. Why should he bother making his own gold when his followers were eager to just hand it to him?

They left the Apothecary and made their way around the rest of the shops, with Tom allowing Abraxas to do most of the school shopping while he browsed around, picking up whatever extraneous purchases that caught his fancy. Their last stop before their errand in Knockturn Alley was Flourish and Blotts. Once they entered, Malfoy went straight to where the Hogwarts course books were displayed while Tom wandered into the back of the shop. He didn’t really think any of the books he would interested in would be available in this part of the Alley, he’d have to visit the bookstore’s less _discerning_ counterpart in Knockturn, but there wasn’t any harm in looking, was there? He was scanning the titles on the spines of the book, not really watching where he was going, until all of the sudden he nearly tripped over some obstruction in the aisle. He caught himself on one of the shelves just in time.

“Hey!” A female voice cried out. “Watch where you’re—”

The girl’s voice cut off when Tom looked down and locked eyes with her. It was the girl Abraxas had been talking to in the Leaky Cauldron. She was sitting on the floor in the aisle between the bookshelves with an old tome propped open on her lap. This part of the store was poorly lit, so her wand tip was illuminated and held close to the pages she was reading. She was staring up at him, her eyes wide in shock. He thought he might have seen a flash of fear on her face. Well, she should fear him, that much was true, but he wondered how she’d been so quick to figure it out; the other Slytherins had taken almost four whole years to get that concept through their thick skulls.

She really wasn’t much to look at, he thought with disdain. He’d noticed how atrocious her hair was back in the pub— a brown, frizzy mess, didn’t she know any hair charms? And her features were rather plain. Except maybe her eyes—they were a warm, chocolate brown. He disliked sweet things, but he actually liked chocolate. Wait, where had that thought come from? Anyway, he couldn’t really tell what Malfoy was so worked up about.

After a moment, she seemed to regain some composure and stopped gaping up at him like an idiot. “Oh. Um, Mr. Riddle,” she sputtered. “Fancy seeing you here.”

“What are you doing reading on the floor?” He asked coolly. “This is a bookstore, not your living room.”

The girl, Temple, glanced at something behind him. She bit her lip and started twirling one of her riotous curls around her finger. Really, why was she so nervous? Well, whatever it was, it was quite entertaining. Tom enjoyed having an effect on people, and he was certainly used to even the most intelligent girls turning into simpering idiots around him.

“I’m, well, hiding, you see. From my cousin. She was being quite… suffocating and so when I got the opportunity, I slipped out of the pub. I decided to come to the bookstore, because I, er, love books? Anyway, it didn’t seem like anyone really came back here, so I thought it would be fine if I just sat back here for a while. I really didn’t mean to be in anyone’s way.”

“Hm. Well, you are.” He frowned down at her. “Are you going to move, so that I can get through?”

“Oh? Um, sure!” She scrambled into a standing position and pushed herself against the bookshelves, the book she’d been reading clutched to her chest. He was about to brush past her and be done with it, but then he caught sight of the words on the spine of her book: _Tempus Immortalium_. The Time of the Immortals.

Now _that_ was interesting. Before she could react, he’d snatched it out of her hands and started to flip through it. Much to his dismay, it was written entirely in Latin. He could understand portions of it, but he wasn’t good enough with the language to sit and read it casually, as she’d been doing. He would have needed to be actively writing a translation to make sense of it.

“You can read this?” He asked incredulously.

The girl was staring at him, looking terribly frightened. But as he watched, her fear morphed into something else—anger, outrage. And then the next second, she seemed to master herself and a cool, emotionless mask spread over her features. When she spoke, her voice was steady and even. “Well, yes, parts of it. It’s a mixture of classical and middle Latin. I studied classical Latin to read the works of Roman Wizards, but the middle Latin is harder to understand. I’ll work out those portions later when I buy the book.”

Riddle was begrudgingly impressed—both by her ability to casually read in a dead language and by her ability to force her emotions from her countenance. It wasn’t nearly as professional as his mask, of course; he wouldn’t have shown any emotion at all, while he’d gotten a glimpse of hers first, but still. It was actually quite… Slytherin of her.

Perhaps he’d actually look forward to the results of her Sorting. Maybe he’d been too quick to dismiss her, after all. And even if his first instinct was correct and she was just as useless as he’d first thought, he’d still managed to get _something_ out of this encounter. He snapped the book closed and tucked it under his arm.

“Well that is quite impressive, Miss Temple.” He said smoothly. “Perhaps if I run into difficulty in my translation, I shall come to you for a second opinion.”

Just like that, her mask fell to pieces as shock and maybe horror spread across her face. “What—What translation?” She stammered.

“My translation of this book,” He said, smirking at her. “From what I can gather, it’s quite interesting. I think I should like to buy it.”

“ _What_?” He watched with glee as outrage and indignation filled her eyes. She glared up at him, and he noticed that her nose scrunched the tiniest bit. “How dare you! That’s the only copy, and I found it first!”

Since she was a full head shorter than him and her nose was scrunched so delightfully, he was inclined to find her anger entertaining rather than offensive; he would never have found it threatening, of course, but he usually didn’t let anyone talk to him so insolently. However, when she did it, it was almost… cute.

“Well, Miss Temple, if you were so set on keeping it for yourself, you should never have given it to me, now should you?”

“But—But I _didn’t_ give it to you, you took it!”

Tom just shrugged, smirking. “Semantics, Darling. Either way, it’s mine now.” He stepped past her, satisfied, and strode away. He was actually curious to see how good she was with Latin, he reflected. Perhaps once he was finished looking through it for himself, he’d let her see it…

All of the sudden, the book was yanked out from under his arm. He spun around just in time to see the bushy-haired witch scuttling out of the aisle and ducking behind another bookshelf, her wand out and the book in her hands She’d summoned it away from him, the insolent witch!

Less amused now, he squared his shoulders and stalked after her. He wasn’t going to let her leave with the impression that she could just _take_ things from him after he’d clearly said they were _his_. That wasn’t how this worked. She was a newcomer, she wasn’t expected to know, but he would certainly have to teach her. He followed the sound of her quick footsteps as she wound her way deeper and deeper through the maze of shelves.

He flicked his wand behind him as he went, putting up wards to prevent her from escaping and silencing spells to prevent anyone from hearing, should their conversation turn less… pleasant. “Miss Temple,” He called out when he was certain that he’d blocked all routes for escape. “That wasn’t very polite, now was it?” He turned a corner and saw that she’d finally reached a dead end. She was now trapped between him and the wall. She was looking around frantically while holding the book behind her back.

“Miss Temple, please.” He said soothingly. “If you apologize and return the book, I promise to forget this whole thing. Trust me, it would be for the best.”

She seemed to realize that escape was impossible, because she finally turned her gaze back onto him. But instead of giving in to his demands, she gave him a foolhardy glare of defiance. “Trust you? As if! You just tried to steal my book!”

“ _My_ book, Miss Temple,” He replied sweetly. He was taking back what he’d thought earlier about her being a potential Slytherin. The way she was acting now was so brash and stupid it could only be befitting of a Gryffindor. “And very well, you don’t have to trust me, but I really do mean it when I say that you should _not_ cross me.” He dropped his voice low, letting an edge seep through his normally gentle tone. “You _don’t_ wish to end up on my bad side.”

She seemed to be possessing some degree of intelligence, at least, because finally his words seemed to get through to her. She lowered her eyes and demurely held up the book for him to take. “I’m… I’m sorry, Mr. Riddle. I can see now that you really want this book. You probably need it more than I do. So, here you go…”

He grinned in triumph as he snatched the tome from her hands. “Why, thank you, Miss Temple, I knew you would see reason!” He slid the book back under his arm and stepped aside, gesturing for her to leave. “Till Hogwarts, then.” She hurriedly stepped past him without another word and headed straight to the front of the store, too frightened to remain back here with him. _Good_. A second later, he remembered all the wards he’d placed and waved his wand, disabling all of them at once. Then, he took a few minutes to look around this section of the store, before deciding nothing else was worth his time or Malfoy’s money.

He made his way back towards the front of the shop to where Abraxas was standing, holding Tom’s course books with a stupid smile on his face.

“Ah, Riddle, there you are. You’ll never guess who I just saw!”

“The witch from the Leaky Cauldron, yes, I encountered her as well.” Tom said, bored. Really, why was Malfoy grinning like that? The girl was already gone, if she’d left the shop that meant the two of them could only have had about a minute of conversation. What could they have possibly talked about to get Abraxas so… annoyingly happy? He didn’t care, he decided. “Are you finally ready to go now?” He asked.

Malfoy nodded and placed the course books on the counter before glancing at the book under Tom’s arm. “Oh, did you have something else to add?”

Riddle nodded and tossed the book onto the pile. When Malfoy caught sight of it, his brow furrowed. “Erm, Riddle…”

Tom frowned. Since when did Abraxas question his choice in reading material. “Yes?”

Malfoy caught sight of his Lord’s expression and hurriedly looked away. “Nothing.”

The shop attendant, a middle aged man, saw the book and started laughing. “Oh, boys, neither one of you needs this! With looks like yours, I’m certain you’re not struggling!”

“ _What?_ ” Tom grabbed the book again and stared in disbelief as he beheld an insipid manual entitled _Twelve Fail-Safe Ways to Charm Witches_. It took him a second to process, but once he realized what had happened, he was overcome with rage. This was outrageous! That witch had switched the books! Why hadn’t he noticed earlier? Had she charmed it, somehow?

“Did Miss Temple purchase anything?” He asked Abraxas through gritted teeth.

“Um, yes, she bought some really old book. Not sure what it was about. Didn’t look like it was in English, I can tell you that much. Er…” Tom’s Knight clearly recognized the expression of fury visible on his features, and trailed off. He, too, seemed to realize what must have happened, because the next second, Riddle thought he saw a look of concern on Malfoy’s face. _Concern_ for that little _thief_.  “You’re not… She won’t… She probably didn’t mean to!” He said quickly. “She… She can’t have known!”

“So will you be taking this, then, M’boy?” The oblivious shop keeper asked jovially. “It’s only two Galleons if you are! It just came out, but I’ve heard quite good things about it so far!”

“No, I most certainly will not!” Tom spat. It was all he could do not to hurl the offending book across the room. Instead, he shoved it into the pile of bargain books next to the counter and glared at Abraxas. “Pay and let’s get out of here.”

Not only had that witch had the nerve to trick him, she’d also tried to embarrass him in the process! Oh, she would pay! He seethed as Abraxas gave a handful of gold to the shopkeeper, who was laughing softly under his breath. Tom wished they weren’t in so public a place, or that stupid man would have the honor of receiving Tom’s first _Cruciatus_ curse in two months.  

After the business was finished, the two of them left the shop. Tom was still simmering and Abraxas was following him worriedly.

“My Lord,” He said softly, after they’d made the turn from Diagon into Knockturn. “You’re not going to… How will you punish the girl?”

“She _took_ something that I said I wanted, and then had the nerve to publicly humiliate me!” Tom said venomously. “She’ll only get what she deserves!”

“But, My Lord!” Malfoy said, sounding desperate. “Her cousin is the temporary Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor! You _can’t_ just do that and expect not to be found out!”

This brought Tom up short. He’d actually forgotten that. He sadly reflected on the images he’d been concocting, off the little Temple girl writhing and screaming under his curses, and then banished them from his mind. It just wouldn’t _do_ to have a faculty member investigating him too closely. Not when he had _such_ big plans for the year…  

“You’re right.” He said begrudgingly. “I suppose she’s safe enough, for now…” Abraxas looked much too relieved at this statement, and so he added quickly, “I still want that book though, and I fully intend on getting it from her.” Suddenly, an idea struck him, and he was filled with vengeful glee once more. “And since you’re _so_ fond of your new acquaintance, I’m assigning you the special task of procuring it!”

Malfoy stared at him, his eyes round. “My Lord! I—”

Tom cut him off simply by raising an eyebrow. The blond boy wisely swallowed whatever complaint he had and instead nodded dutifully.

“Of course, whatever you say.”

“And if you fail at this task, I’m sure you remember what will happen.” Tom said smoothly, enjoying how the other boy cringed involuntarily at the memory of torture by Tom.

“Y- Yes, My Lord.”

Tom smiled, satisfied with his solution. With that, he pushed any more thoughts of the insolent little witch out of his head. “Good. In that case, come. We’ve still got one more thing to acquire today…”

The pair headed deeper into Knockturn alley, carrying out their plans as if nothing had interrupted them.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So there you have it! This is probably one of my favorite chapters so far; I started this for NaNo, and writing this chapter was really what energized the project so I could go through the whole month (I won :D). Thanks to everyone who's read so far! 
> 
> For the record, I do realize that the Twelve Ways to Charm a Witch book would probably not have been available back in the forties, but I thought the moment was too priceless to pass up.
> 
> As far as the next update, I think I will aim to have it up sometime next weekend. But it's also maybe sort of finals week this week, so I'm not going to make any promises. I'll definitely have time to post more after my semester is over, though. Anyway, thanks, and reviews are welcome!


	4. All Sorts of Friends

For the first time since she’d been dragged back into the 1940’s, Hermione could say that she’d had a relatively enjoyable week. Mostly it was due to the fact that she could  _ finally  _ have more than an hour to herself, away from the bossy, insufferable witch whose fault it was that she was there in the first place! 

She spent her time that week wandering around Diagon Alley or the streets of muggle London, spending the money that Electra had given her; she had no qualms about treating herself to things like expensive pastries, quality potions ingredients, and new books. She  _ deserved  _ nice things, seeing as she had been forced to become a living anachronism and all. She was always alert, fervently hoping to avoid running into Tom Riddle again, and luckily, he didn’t show. She was certain that he wouldn’t forget about their run-in at Flourish and Blotts.

Hermione was a little angry with herself for doing something that was sure to draw his ire so early on in the mission, but she really hadn’t had any choice. That book contained the only stories she’d ever found of extreme time travel like what Electra had done. It was a collection of supposed “evidence” that the Pantheon of Greco-Roman gods was really made up of powerful witches and wizards who’d traveled back from the far future. Even though it first read like conspiracy theory, there were a few details that seemed to match up with some of the things Electra had said surrounding their own time-travel experience. Since Hermione was desperate to regain control of her situation, she needed to take any clues that came her way, and that book was the only lead she had. Also, she didn’t think piquing Tom Riddle’s interest in major, history-changing time-travel was a very good idea. Not when she knew just how possible it actually was. So she had had to take it back. And he was being  _ such  _ an infuriating arsehole, that when she saw that stupid little book Ron had used, she just couldn’t resist…. 

Anyway, she figured that the next time she saw him, she would act like their encounter had never happened. If he asked, she would say that she’d given the book to her cousin as a present. That way, he’d be discouraged from trying to steal it from her or anything. Surely not even Tom Riddle would risk getting caught stealing from a professor, not when he still had a reputation to maintain. 

While milling around Diagon Alley those days before the term started, she ended up catching a glimpse of many forties-era Hogwarts students whom she’d soon be sharing a school with. A few of them had even come up and introduced themselves after noticing the strange, new, school-aged witch lurking around the shops. She’d repeated her cover story over a dozen times, and it seemed to impress many of the students. The one hard part of those meetings was that she would encounter a name or a face that was both familiar and utterly strange, a vivid reminder that she was not where or when she belonged. She would have to struggle to hide her pain and discomfort. 

The worst, and possibly best, of those encounters happened the day before term started. Hermione hadn’t even had to learn his name to know who he was related to—the moment she caught sight of that head of messy black hair, she just knew. She’d been sitting outside of a small caf é , enjoying a late-afternoon snack, when he came strolling by. She couldn’t help gawking at him—for about half a second, she’d believed that Harry was walking down the street towards her. 

Of course it wasn’t Harry, but her best friend’s doppleganger did notice her unabashedly staring at him. He frowned and glanced around, as if trying to figure out who she was looking at, before stopping beside her table. 

He stood next to her and awkwardly ran a hand through his shaggy hair. “Erm, excuse me, Miss, but can I help you?”

Hermione snapped out of her stupor and forced herself to speak. “Oh, um, no, sorry. You just… You look like someone I used to know. And that… surprised me.”

“I see.” He was looking at her curiously, smiling a little bit. She noticed that his eyes were blue, rather than bottle-green like Harry’s. Of course, Harry had gotten his eyes from his mother… Also, he didn’t wear spectacles. But other than that, they could have been twins. “I haven’t seen you around here before, you don’t go to Hogwarts?” His voice was a little deeper than Harry’s, she noted. 

Hermione took a breath to steady her emotions and then smiled, beginning her familiar new introduction. “I’m transferring to Hogwarts this term. I’m—”

“Hermione Temple!” The Harry-look-alike exclaimed. “I heard about you from Augusta Rookwood!” He thrust out his hand and when Hermione took it, he eagerly shook it. “You’re cousin’s going to be the temporary Defense teacher while Merrythought’s at St.Mungo’s then?” 

“Yes, she is.” Hermione laughed.“I’m sorry, what did you say your name was?’

“Oh! Fleance Potter, at your service!” 

Hermione smiled thinly. “You don’t say.”

Fleance glanced at the table she was seated at and asked eagerly, “Say, are you sitting with anyone? If you’d like to chat a bit, I’ve got some time!” 

Hermione shook her head. “My cousin’s busy today, it’s just me. Feel free to sit down, I’d love company!”

“Excellent!” He took the seat across from her, beaming. “So it’s ‘Hermione’, huh? Were your parents big fans of Shakespeare?”

“You know Shakespeare?” Hermione asked, surprised. “Most wizards don’t!”

Fleance shrugged. “Well, my parents did. That’s how I got stuck with a name like ‘Fleance’” He cringed. “My father had a rebellious phase where he tried to go live in the muggle world. He ended up getting an English Degree from a muggle University before my mother was able to draw him back into the wizarding world. But, his love of the Bard never waned, and so here I sit. Anyway, how’d you get yours?” 

“Well, it’s not anything to do with Shakespeare, specifically. My mother’s name is Helen. Hermione was the daughter of Helen of Troy,” Hermione explained. “Although  _ A Winter’s Tale  _ is an excellent play. As is  _ Macbeth _ .” 

They continued talking for awhile. Hermione discovered that he was a fifth year too, and that (no surprise) he was in Gryffindor. When he asked what house she thought she would be sorted into, she had to stop herself from laughing.

“Oh, I really can’t say.” Hermione smirked a little bit. “If I had to guess, though, I would say I fit Ravenclaw. Or Gryffindor, perhaps.”

“Well you certainly look like a Gryffindor! I’m sure you’d fit right in!” Fleance said enthusiastically. “And if you get put in Ravenclaw, don’t worry, we can still be friends! Heck, even if you get put in Hufflepuff, I sure would like to hang out, you know?” 

Hermione smiled. “And if I’m put into Slytherin?”

Fleance gasped in horror. “Oh, don’t say such things! Of course, then we could never speak again! But don’t worry, you’d never be a Slytherin, Hermione! For one thing, you’re not all cold and slimy! And  _ you  _ have manners!”

“What was that, Potter?” A chilling voice interrupted. “Got something to say about Slytherin?” 

Hermione and Fleance turned and saw that two more boys standing by their table and glowering at Fleance. One was thin and lanky, with wavy brown hair and thick eyebrows. The other was taller and lean, with short black hair and sharp blue eyes. Both were quite handsome, and wearing ostensibly expensive robes. 

Fleance visibly tensed up and returned the boys’ frosty look. “Hello, Black. Lestrange. I’m sorry that you might have heard something you didn’t like while you were eavesdropping on a  _ private  _ conversation.”

Hermione clenched her jaw at their surnames. Wonderful.  _ More _ junior Death Eaters. Unconsciously her hand clutched at the place on her arm, where, not too long ago, a woman related to both of these men had carved a cursed slur into her flesh. Electra had hidden it with a powerful glamour so that it wouldn’t give away her identity, but it still hurt sometimes, and she  _ knew  _ it was there….  

“You should watch your mouth, Potter.” The dark haired one hissed. “Or one of these days, you’ll regret it!” 

“Oh, I’m sorry, who’s this?” His companion had noticed her and was looking at her curiously, without any of the malice he’d shown towards Fleance just moments before. “I don’t believe we’ve met.”

Hermione forced a thin smile. “I’m Hermione Temple. I’ll be transferring to Hogwarts this term.” 

“Yes, Abraxas Malfoy mentioned you!” He smiled and held out his hand. His toothy grin made Hermione think of a shark. “Emmet Lestrange, at your service, Madame! And this is my good friend and classmate, Orion Black.” Hermione reached for his hand, and, like Malfoy had, Lestrange bent to kiss it. The moment he released it, Black reached for it and kissed it as well. 

“A pleasure to make your acquaintance.” He said smoothly. 

“Erm, likewise.” Hermione stammered. She was thrown by these boy’s pleasant behavior. Surely they had heard from Malfoy and Riddle about her trick at the bookstore? Perhaps, she thought smugly, Riddle had been too embarrassed at being outsmarted by some random witch to let news get out, even to his band of sycophantic followers. Either that, or they didn’t want to be rude to her in public. No, that was a treat saved for poor Fleance. 

“I hope you haven’t been filling Miss Temple’s head with lies about our house, Potter.” Lestrange said cooly, curling his lip in her companion’s direction. 

“Oh, no lies.” Fleance snapped. The look he was giving the pair was the exact same one she’d seen on Harry’s face whenever he had faced off with Draco Malfoy. “Lying’s for Slytherins. I was just trying to prepare her for what to expect.”

Black sneered at him, and then he looked towards Hermione. “Miss Temple, I implore you, do not let the biases of one Gryffindor shape your impression of an entire house.” His voice was honey sweet. “I can assure you, if you do get sorted into Slytherin, we would be delighted to have you!”

Hermione wanted to scoff, but she checked herself just in time. Perhaps once she got sorted back into Gryffindor, she could take part in the inter-house rivalry; as it was, she shouldn’t show too strong an opinion of a house that, as far as anyone knew, had yet to do her any wrong. Instead, she forced herself to smile up at the two Slytherins. 

“Of course not, Mr. Black.” She said, trying her best to be demure. “I plan to go into Hogwarts with an open mind.” 

“Excellent, Miss Temple.” Black smiled at her, a little more genuine this time, but still unsettling. “Then we look forward to making your further acquaintance at the start of the term.” 

“Yeah, right! As if Hermione would want to acquaint herself with the likes of _you_!” Fleance spat. It seemed that in addition to her best friend's’ facial features, he shared Harry’s inability to just let things _go_

“That’s the problem with you Gryffindors,” Lestrange said, disdain clear in his voice. “You just don’t know when to stop. Did you miss Orion’s warning to hold your tongue? He  _ said  _ you would regret it.”

“Make all the threats you want, Lestrange,” Fleance said boldly, crossing his arms. “You and your slimy friends don’t intimidate me. Now leave us  _ alone _ , or  _ you’ll  _ be the ones with regrets!” 

Lestrange sneered. “Is this your Gryffindor ‘bravery’ showing up, then? Mark my words, Potter. One of these days, it’ll come back to bite you.”

“I’ll just pay extra attention in potions class, then,” Fleance huffed. “Learn to make a good antidote for snake-bites.”

“This is what happens when buffoons try to be clever,” Orion drawled, rolling his eyes. “Stick to bellowing and roars. It’s all your House is good at. Leave word games to those of us who think  _ before  _ we speak.”

Fleance’s knuckles were white around his mug, and he was simmering with unconcealed rage. “You’re just lucky there’s a lady present!” He said hotly. “Otherwise I’d show you the consequences of messing with Gryffindors!” She liked Fleance well enough, but even Hermione had to admit his last statement made him sound just a bit like the uncouth Gryffindors the other boys were describing.  

Black and Lestrange burst out in horrible, cold laughter. “Oh my, aren’t we amusing!” Black said. “You’re only serving to prove our point!”

Lestrange smirked. “And if I recall correctly, the last time we came to blows, it was your ginger friend who ended up in the Hospital Wing. How  _ are  _ his teeth, by the way? Can he chew normally now?” 

Fleance’s face was flushed. “Why, you bastard, when I—”

“Emmy!” Their conversation was interrupted by an older dark-haired witch striding up to them and taking Lestrange by the hand. “Emmy, what are you doing, you’re late for your appointment!” 

Lestrange painted a sickly-sweet expression of innocence on his face. “Sorry, Aunt Leta, Orion and I just ran into some schoolmates who detained us.”

The other witch barely gave Hermione and Fleance a glance before brushing them aside and tugging on her nephew’s hand. “Well come  _ on _ , you can catch up with your friends later—”

“We are  _ not  _ his friends!” Fleance said loudly. He was ignored. 

“Bid them farewell, we really must be going!” 

Lestrange looked at Hermione and nodded his head. “Farewell, Miss Temple.” He gave Fleance another disdainful sneer. “Potter.”

Orion nodded as well, and the three of them walked away without another word.

“And  _ that,  _ Hermione, is why Gryffindors aren’t friends with Slytherins,” Fleance said darkly, glaring at their receding backs. 

“Surely they’re not  _ all  _ that bad.”

Fleance sighed. “Well, they’re not. I actually know a few decent ones. But they’re hard to find, and even harder to befriend. Only extreme circumstances can push our Houses together.”

Hermione nodded, unsurprised by what she was hearing. She’d certainly seen enough inter-house rivalry in her day. But she was a bit disappointed that the students of the forties were every bit as immature as those in her day had been.    

Suddenly, Fleance’s dark expression turned brighter for a moment. “Hey, did Lestrange’s aunt call him  _ Emmy _ ? Merlin, Septimus is going to have a fit over that one! Sounds like a three-year-old girl! He still hasn’t forgiven the arse for hitting him in the face with a Beater’s bat last term.” 

Hermione gasped. “It got  _ that  _ violent?”

Fleance scowled. “Lestrange talked his way out of it by going on and on about how it was an ‘accident’, that Sep was down by the Quidditch pitch when he shouldn’t have been—It’s all very complicated…”

Fleance launched into a dramatic recounting of an epic Gryffindor-Slytherin fight at the end of the previous year. He then went further back, detailing his rivalry with those particular Slytherins over the past four years at Hogwarts. It was eerily reminiscent of the tale of Harry and Draco. 

They realized that they’d been sitting together for many hours, and that it was now past dinner time for Hermione, and Fleance still had to finish his school shopping. After she’d bid him farewell and promised to find him on the Hogwarts Express the next day, she reluctantly returned to the Leaky Cauldron. There, she found Electra sitting at the bar and laughing loudly with the barkeeper. She tried to sneak up to her room without attracting the woman’s notice, but unfortunately Tom the barman spotted her and exclaimed loudly, “Why, Miss Temple, if it isn’t your lovely cousin, back from her day of shopping!”

Electra turned around and beamed when she caught sight of Hermione, who had already been starting on the stairs. “Oh, Hermione, dear! Where have you been? I was just telling Tom here about our time in Athens! You remember how much you loved the Sub-Acropolis?” Hermione couldn’t help but roll her eyes at Electra’s excessive bragging and their overly-detailed backstory. 

When she saw that Hermione wasn’t going to reply, Electra frowned a little bit, before grinning again and beckoning Hermione over. “Come, dear! You should spend some time with your poor cousin before we leave tomorrow! Once we’re at Hogwarts, we’ll both be very busy, we’ll hardly have time to talk!” The woman, who was supposed to be acting like a professional thirty-year-old professor, thrust out her lips and started to pout like a child. “You don’t want me to miss you too much, do you?”

_ Well, seeing as you kidnapped me, forced me into this situation, and gave me no choice but to play along, I really don’t see why I should care about your feelings.  _ That’s what she wanted to say, probably followed by loudly stomping up the stairs and slamming the door to her room shut, like she’d been in the habit to do at the Norwegian cabin. But she’d been trying that caustic approach for the past two months, and it hadn’t changed anything. If anything, it made Electra pester even more. And having actually gotten some space from her this past week had made the idea of spending time in her presence  _ slightly  _ more palatable. So Hermione decided to just give in and pretend for Electra this one night, in order to see what might happen. She sighed, walked over to the counter, and perched herself on the stool next to the witch. 

Electra gave Hermione a positively radiant smile. She didn’t say anything about this being out of the ordinary, perhaps afraid that it would send Hermione away, which honestly, it might have. Instead, she asked jovially, “So what would you like to drink?”

Hermione pursed her lips, and momentarily forgot that she was supposed to be sixteen and underage for another three weeks. “Firewhiskey.” 

Electra blinked. “Oh, but dear, I can’t give you  _ that _ .” She glanced over at Tom the barkeep, who was watching the pair of them amused. “She comes of age in under a month, and is quite eager to be treated as an adult. And of course, in many ways she is one, already. We’ve had many adventures together, her and I, and I’m sure that will just be even easier once she’s no longer a minor!” Electra babbled. Hermione wondered just how much time the woman had spent constructing the narrative of their fictional life together. She always spoke of it in such great detail. And she always managed to look at Hermione so… lovingly. It was disconcerting, coming from her kidnapper. “So little patience, this one.” She reached over towards Hermione and fondly chucked her under the chin. “I’m sure a nice Butterbeer would be enough for tonight though, wouldn’t you say, dear?” 

Hermione couldn’t help but roll her eyes. Electra knew that Hermione was actually eighteen already and that it should be perfectly legal for her to consume alcohol,  _ if  _ her bloody timeline hadn’t been messed up thanks to a certain meddlesome witch But she couldn’t say that in the middle of the crowded pub, now could she? So she just shrugged. “Sure…” She bit her lip uncertainly. She usually tried to keep up a cold wall of distance between them, never putting more effort into their interactions than the bare minimum. But tonight, Hermione had committed to trying a different approach. She thought of what she might say if she really were Hermione Temple, who had lived an exciting life of adventure with her enigmatic older cousin as a companion. “Although on my birthday I do hope you’ll be willing to celebrate with me properly.” 

The woman practically  _ glowed _ at Hermione’s change in attitude. “Of course, dear!” She said enthusiastically. “Yes, of course we’ll have a birthday party! I’m so looking forward to giving you your birthday presents!” 

Hermione wanted to groan. She’d given Electra an inch and she’d taken a mile. Honestly, she didn’t really understand  _ why  _ the woman was so intent to have Hermione like her. It wasn’t as if Hermione was anything more than a pawn, a useful tool plucked up from where she was supposed to be and brought to where Electra found her useful. She listened to Electra prattle on about plans for the birthday party she would throw, urging Hermione to make lots of new friends quickly so that they’d have a proper turn out. Hermione replied when necessary with as much enthusiasm as she could feign, thoroughly bewildered. How had it gotten to this point?

Finally, the hour grew late enough that the pub started to empty out. Hermione’s eyes were starting to droop as she worked on her third mug of butterbeer. She felt nice and warm, a pleasant tingle moving over her body… 

“Oh, my, is it that time already?” She heard Electra chuckle. “Excuse me, Tom, I should see my cousin to bed. She’s got a train to catch tomorrow, after all.” Hermione would take the Hogwarts Express with the other students while Electra would floo to the school later in the day. 

Hermione felt herself by lifted up and guided towards the stairs, supported by Electra’s surprisingly strong frame. Soon, they reached the door to Hermione’s bedroom, which Electra unlocked and opened without even needing a key. She helped Hermione seat herself on the bed, and then sat down next to her. 

“Hermione,” She began softly, stroking some of the curls out of Hermione’s face. “It has occurred to me that you might be nervous for what tomorrow might bring.” She paused, but Hermione didn’t react, too distracted by the warm, heavy feeling settling into her body. Electra continued, “I just want you to know that I firmly believe you’re up to the challenge.” 

Hermione looked up into Electra’s eyes and was struck by how they were suddenly… Different. She wasn’t wearing her usual expression, the one of constant superior bemusement that irked Hermione to no end. Right now, her face was warm, real… honest. 

“It was no accident that I selected  _ you _ to assist me on this mission.” She said. “You’re quite special, dear. In my time, I’ve seen my fair share of promising wizards and witches, but…” She smiled. “I’ve not seen one quite like you in a long time. You… Remind me of someone I once knew.” Her dark eyes, which held beautiful, fathomless depths, sparkled with excitement. “You can do it, Hermione. You’re  _ going  _ to do it, I can tell. You’ll save us all!” 

Hermione wasn’t quite sure what Electra was talking about, so she wasn’t sure how to reply. Finally, she looked away, and mumbled, “Thank you, I think?” 

Electra smiled and stood up to leave. Before she left the room, she looked back at Hermione. “I had a rather nice time with you tonight. Please don’t grow sullen again. I really do care about you, and enjoy your company. You’re… You’re all I have right now, Hermione. You’re… Well, you’re my only hope. Perhaps we could try to be… Friends?”

Hermione looked closely at the other witch. Instead of displaying her usual confidence, she looked uncertain. Almost vulnerable. Much to Hermione’s chagrin, something within her softened a bit towards the other witch in that moment. It occurred to her that Electra, too, was living in a strange time, without any of her old friends or family. She and Electra were in the same boat. Sure, it was Electra who had put them there, but that didn’t change the fact that it was hard, and lonely. Hermione leaned back, resting her head against the headboard.  “I… I can’t make any promises,” she said softly, “But… I guess we can try.” 

Electra’s smile was even more dazzling than earlier that night. Hermione thought she saw tears welling up in the other witch’s eyes. Hermione awkwardly shifted under her strangely-emotional gaze. Electra seemed to realize she was making Hermione uncomfortable.

“Well, goodnight, dear! I’ll see you in the morning!” She turned and left the room, but not before Hermione caught the gleam of a tear on Electra’s cheek. 

Hermione sighed and closed her eyes, pulling the blankets up over her shoulders. In all honestly, it was a relief to have let go of her animosity towards Electra. Come tomorrow, she knew that she would have a much more sinister enemy to worry about, and Electra was currently her best ally. And without her, this time in the past would certainly be much more lonely…  Briefly, it occurred to her that the air no longer tasted bitter… and then she drifted off to sleep.   

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There you go! Some new characters, and a healthy dose of Gryffindor-Slytherin rivalry! Plus some changes in Hermione's relationship with Electra. Not a lot happens in this chapter, but I wanted to introduce some of the minor characters before we get to school so they're easier to tell apart. Next chapter will be on the train, and is split between Tom and Hermione's POV. And there will be a couple of familiar faces showing up ;) 
> 
> Anyway I really SHOULD get started on my Final Essays. Good luck to anyone out there finishing up their semesters! Expect an update possibly in the middle of next week. Thanks for reading!


	5. The Hogwarts Express

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the lateness of the update, my finals ended and then family Holiday stuff kind of took over. Anyway, since I skipped a week, I'll put up two chapters tonight. 
> 
> I also do not own anything that originates from Harry Potter, that's all J.K. Rowling. 
> 
> Anyway, enjoy :)

Tom had to force himself not to groan in disgust as the meeting between the Prefects and the Heads dragged on and on. The Hogwarts Express had pulled away from the station almost an hour ago, and he was still being forced to listen to a tedious lecture about all his new “responsibilities”. He couldn't care less about the great “honor” being bestowed upon him by the school, and he might have rejected it due to how time consuming it would be, but for the sake of the pristine reputation that he needed to uphold until graduation. Anyway, it  _ would  _ make it easier to wander the castle at night.

However, the future benefits he stood to gain from this were not enough to make him endure the meeting with patience. He fixed his glare on Abraxas, who was sitting across from him, and tried to convey in a look that the older Prefect had not in anyway suitably prepared him for the tediousness of this ordeal. Malfoy would certainly regret that later.

Abraxas must have felt the pull of his Lord’s gaze, because he glanced up, and Tom saw him grow rigid with fear. He hurriedly looked back to the front of the table, where Alphard Black and Minerva McGonagall, the tiresome pair that’d been made Head Boy and Girl this year, were still prattling on like the idiots they were, oblivious to the fact that a certain Slytherin Prefect was being marked down for punishment. Tom looked in satisfaction for a moment as the usually composed Malfoy heir squirmed under his gaze. It was always more entertaining to do this to Abraxas than any of the others, Tom mused. Probably because the boy spent far too much time working on his collected and gentlemanly facade. Tom very much enjoyed making all that hard work be for naught. Plus, none of his other Knights were Prefects, so in these banal meetings Malfoy would get to enjoy his Lord’s full attentions. 

Even as he was contemplating the most delicious ways he could torture Malfoy later, Alphard Black finally announced that the meeting and started to give out assignments for patrolling the train. Tom, of course, had much better things to do than telling off second-years for hexing one another or reminding everyone to change into their uniforms, so he made a gesture for Malfoy to follow him and left the meeting before they could be noticed slipping away. They made their way down the train until they came to the compartment where the rest of his Knights were already gathered. 

There were five of them. Rosier, Nott, Lestrange, and two Blacks. With the addition of himself and Malfoy, their number was made seven. Tom had done that on purpose. He liked it when things came in sevens. Seven was a powerfully magic number. And he was so  _ thrilled  _ by power…. 

The moment he stepped into the car, all of them jumped up into standing positions and bowed their heads respectfully. 

“My Lord.” Devon Rosier murmured. “I hope you had a pleasant summer.”

Riddle scoffed. Rosier was a year older than him, but was vastly inferior, and still didn’t understand how Tom worked, not really. No matter how much work he put into him, into any of the Knights really, he couldn’t convince them that social niceties were entirely unnecessary where  _ he  _ was involved. He hated pesky questions like that. However, he didn’t want to risk getting caught cursing a classmate on the train, and he was certain that all of the Gryffindor Prefects would be more than delighted to press their filthy little noses up against his compartment window and get him in trouble for using magic. So instead, he made a note to torture Rosier a little bit later, and instead threw himself down on the seat next to the Black brothers.

“Oh, it was as pleasant as it could be, surrounded by filthy muggles,” he drawled. “And I’ll bet that  _ you  _ had just a grand old time chasing the maids around your family’s estate and spending your parents’ Galleons on booze?” 

Rosier furrowed his brow as if he wasn’t sure whether or not Tom required an answer. Wisely, he chose to keep his mouth shut. 

Once he’d sat down, all of the other boys made to be seated as well, aside from Abraxas who fidgeted awkwardly in the doorway. 

“What is it, Malfoy,” Tom sneered, after the boy had stood there for a moment. “There’s no reason to be twitching like that—unless you want my permission to visit the loo?”

“No, My Lord,” Malfoy said quickly, “I was simply wondering if it might be wise for me to begin my patrols as a Prefect.”

Tom narrowed his eyes. “Why? Are you especially eager to trip over snot-nosed first years and tell off the horny Hufflepuffs for snogging?” 

Abraxas shook his head. “Nothing of the sort. I just… Think that perhaps it’s time I began on the task you gave me.” 

“What task?” Thaddeus Nott asked stupidly, before receiving an elbow to the stomach from Emmet Lestrange.

“Quiet, you idiot.” Lestrange hissed, so quiet that Tom almost missed it. “If our Lord has not seen fit to inform you of his plans, he has his reasons.” 

Tom ignored the two of them and stared at Malfoy, considering. “You mean the new girl.” He said at last. “You’re eager to… further your acquaintance.” 

“Not eager, my Lord, not like that!” Malfoy said, much too defensively to be convincing. “I just merely thought to cement a place in her good graces now, before she has a chance to make other connections that might… warn her against us.”

“If you’re talking about that Temple girl, you’re too late.” Orion Black interrupted, leaning against the window of the car. “She’s already quite chummy with Fleance Potter and his lot.” Expressions of disgust flashed across the features of the Knights at the mention of the Gryffindor blood-traitor.

“Oh?” Tom raised his eyebrows at the younger Black brother, who realized that he’d spoken out of turn and had the good sense to appear contrite. “And how do you know this?”

After looking at Tom for a long moment, probably trying to ascertain if punishment was headed his way, Orion answered slowly. “Yesterday, when Emmett and I encountered her in Diagon Alley, she was sitting with Potter. While we attempted to remain gentlemen about it, Potter ended up getting quite heated, and she didn’t seem all that bothered by it, to be honest. Almost seemed to take his side. And today, I approached her on the platform and offered to help her with her trunk, but then Potter showed up and took it before I could, and dragged her away. The next thing I knew she was pulled into the Lion’s Den.” Orion glanced over to Abraxas with the slightest hint of what might have been pity in his eyes. “I don’t think you’ll be seeing your little witch again.” 

Tom frowned, suddenly confused. How could the new girl be considered Abraxas’ when they’d only spoken twice? And how did a useless lout like Fleance Potter come to have her in his grasp so quickly? That didn’t matter, he decided. He really couldn’t care less what wizard claimed her, so long as he got his book. Better luck to the man who did end up with her, he thought snidely, thinking back to his own encounter with the girl. She had quite the temperament, and those mood swings would be enough to make any sane wizard dizzy. 

Then he realized that six pairs of eyes were trained on him, waiting for his direction.  _ Honestly _ . He rolled his eyes. They couldn’t do anything on their own anymore. It was getting to the point where he’d have to start instructing them on how to  _ breathe _ . “If you can’t manage to get her away from the likes of Fleance Potter long enough to get me that book, I’m afraid that I’ve seriously overestimated your abilities, Abraxas.” Tom finally said. “I still expect you to complete your task in a timely manner.” 

Abraxas bowed his head. “Of course, My Lord. Does that mean I may go?” 

Tom scoffed. “Fine, do what you must. We’ll have an official meeting tonight, I won’t conduct any business until then.” 

Abraxas nodded and left, and Tom was left with the rest of the Knights. They were all staring at him, but he didn't care to entertain them, so he pointedly reached into his bag, retrieved one of his books, and started to read. They interpreted his dismissal, and started to converse in hushed tones. He was able to tune them out and focus on his book; it wasn't as if he really cared what any of them had done this summer, or which female students had come out of the summer looking ‘fuckable’. That is, until Orion brought up  _ her  _ again. 

“—seen Temple, though? I honestly can’t decide if she’s gorgeous or hideous!”

“Her hair is quite something.” Lestrange offered. “But her  _ body  _ is quite something else!” 

For some reason, Tom found that all of his attention had turned onto the conversation in the car rather than the words on the page in front of his eyes. 

“She’s that bushy-haired wench, yeah? Personally, I like it. Imagine grabbing it in your fist and just  _ pulling _ .” Rosier gave the air in front of him an overly zealous yank. 

“Ooh, I beat she’d squeal real nice!” Nott grinned. “Do you reckon she puts out?”

Tom’s book snapped shut. Suddenly all eyes were trained on him. He was unsure of when he started glowering at Nott, but it must have been one of his more terrible ones, because the boy immediately shrank back into his seat and tried to make himself as small as possible. 

“My- My Lord? Is something the matter.”

Tom glared. “Yes, in fact. Your immature prattling is making it impossible for those of us who are above such nonsense to concentrate!” 

“M- My apologies, My Lord.” Nott said, his voice trembling. “If it pleases you, I shall remain silent.”

Tom scowled. “Do that. All of you.” He opened his book once more and looked back down at the words. 

Except now he was acutely aware of the thick silence pervading the cabin, and worse, the moments where it was subtly broken. Every time Rosier scratched at his arms or Cygnus shifted his weight or Orion crossed and uncrossed his legs was  _ incredibly  _ conspicuous. 

“Sod it,” Tom grumbled, snapping his book closed again and shoving it into his bag before standing up. “I’m going to patrol for a bit,” He said, louder. He looked contemptuously at the five boys staring up at him. “You have my  _ permission _ to converse about whatever foolish time wasting subject suits your fancy.” He sneered at them once more before yanking the compartment door open and striding out into the main corridor, slamming the door shut behind him. 

He supposed he  _ could  _ have commanded them all to remain perfectly still, and they would have done their best to comply. However, he doubted those imbeciles would have been able to execute such a feat, and he hated to set himself up for disappointment, especially when the time he could vent his frustration was still hours away. So instead, he restlessly swept up and down the train with a blank stare on his face, politely smiling at the other Prefects and students he passed. Finally, he spotted Abraxas, who was emerging from a compartment with a confused look on his face. 

Tom strode up to him and glanced into the compartment. He saw Fleance Potter and the rest of his gaggle of Gryffindors, but not the Temple girl. 

“Where is she?” he asked. There was no need to clarify whom he meant.

If Abraxas was startled by his Lord’s sudden appearance, he didn’t show it. He looked at Tom and shrugged. “I don’t know. They said she’s been sitting with them, but she left ten minutes ago for the loo and hasn’t come back. But if she’d gone there, she would have passed me on the way.”

“So she lied to her new friends, did she?” Tom said thoughtfully. What reasons could she have to flee the company of Gryffindors, a group Tom thought that she was suited to perfectly? Only a Gryffindor could have the right mixture of stupidity and audacity that would allow her to steal from him and then stand up to his face… Or so he had thought. The switching of the books was quite clever and sneaky, he had to admit. Once again, he found himself wondering what house she would finally be put in. 

What  _ would  _ he do if that insolent little witch ended up in a green and silver tie? 

“They’ve only known her for two hours, they can’t be her friends yet!” Abraxas said. He sounded defensive. Tom regarded him with amusement. 

“You’ve only talked to her for half an hour total and you’ve got quite the soft spot for her.” 

Abraxas shifted his weight. “I haven’t  _ gone soft _ for her or anything, I just… There’s something different about her. I’d like to figure out what that is.” 

“Hm…” Tom reluctantly found himself agreeing with his Knight’s assessment. There  _ was  _ something different about Hermione Temple. However, he had yet to decide whether that was a good thing or a bad thing. Either way, following up on it suddenly sounded a lot more interesting than either sitting with the other Knights or performing his Prefect duties. “We’ve got a few hours before we reach Hogwarts. I’ll help you look for her.” He announced. “And then we can see just how  _ different  _ she really is.” 

—0—

Hermione felt bad about ditching the Gryffindors, but she just  _ couldn’t  _ sit in that car any longer. It was bad enough that Fleance could have been Harry’s twin. But then he introduced her to his ginger best friend, Septimus Weasley, and the strange Orpheus Lovegood, who wandered away from his fellow Ravenclaws and into their car, babbling about the Blitthering Humdinger. And then after the Prefects’ meeting had let out, they’d been joined by the austere Augusta Rookwood, who would one day lend her nose and eyes to her grandson Neville, and the bubbly, bespectacled Euphemia Fawley, whom Fleance couldn’t keep his eyes off of, and solved the mystery of where Harry got his poor eyesight—Hermione just couldn’t stand it. It was like the ghostly memory of Hogwarts Express journeys gone by—or the premonition of them. It made her miss her old friends far too much, the longing in her chest actually turning into physical pain, so she made up some excuse about needing the bathroom and left, hoping to find an empty cabin to pass the rest of the journey. 

The closest thing she could find was a carriage near the back of the train with only one person in it. A girl with long dark hair, hunched over a large book. Well, that was fine, she could sit in there and read, too. It would be easier than having to be around the ancestors of her best friends. Tentatively, Hermione opened the door. The girl shrieked and whipped her head up to where Hermione was standing in the door. 

Hermione almost couldn’t believe it—the limp, dark hair, the round face, the large round glasses—the last time she’d seen that face, it had been semi-translucent and had flown up at her from of a toilet. It was Moaning Myrtle—in the flesh! She quickly tried to banish her shock from her face, and instead asked in a polite voice, “Hello, do you mind if I sit in here?”

“N-No… Come on in,” Myrtle sputtered. She was looking at Hermione as if she’d grown a second head. 

Hermione smiled brightly and stepped into the compartment, sliding the door shut behind her. “Thanks!” As she moved to sit down across from the girl, she saw that Myrtle was hurriedly putting her book away and gathering her things. Hermione looked at her, puzzled. “Where are you going?”

Myrtle cringed at Hermione’s words and looked at her with wide eyes. “Oh? I- I thought you wanted to- to sit in here?”

Hermione blinked. “Well, yes I did, but I didn’t mean I wanted  _ you  _ to leave.” 

Myrtle gaped at her. “Wha…” 

Hermione held out her hand, trying to give her an encouraging smile. “I’m Hermione Temple. I’m new to Hogwarts. I’ll be transferring into fifth year.”

“M-Myrtle Warren. Fifth year, Ravenclaw.” The girl hesitantly took Hermione’s hand and grasped it weakly. She shook it once before withdrawing quickly and pulling it back to her side. Slowly she lowered herself back onto her seat, looking around the car at anything but Hermione. Hermione tried to be discreet about wiping off the sweat the girl had left on her palm. 

“It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Myrtle,” Hermione said softly. She'd always pitied Myrtle before—when the ghost hadn't been making herself particularly bothersome, that was. Now, looking at this awkward, frightened girl, Hermione’s heart went out to her. All her years at school, she had been mercilessly bullied, ruthlessly ostracized by her peers. And all of that would culminate in less than a year when Tom Riddle set his basilisk on her, for nothing more than being muggle-born, and cast her into an eternal state of limbo inside of a toilet. 

_ But wait.  _ Her hand flew to her neck and felt the smooth crystals dangling from her neck. Her mission… She had been brought back to effect change. She was supposed to stop the creation of the Horcruxes. And the very first Horcrux, Riddle’s foul diary, was made with this girl’s untimely death. Suddenly, looking at her, Hermione’s mission became that much more real, that much more personal. Instead of securing potential benefits for people who wouldn’t exist for thirty years or more, she was going to give the Hogwarts of the future one fewer ghost, and one more muggle-born witch the chance of having a future in the magical world. Her mission had gotten a new face. 

Myrtle was nervously sputtering, bringing Hermione out of her reverie. “I-I hate to be rude, Miss Temple, but- but since you're new, you must not know…” 

“Know what, Myrtle?” Hermione asked gently.

“You shouldn't—People, they don't—Well, people don't really talk to me,” She looked down and nervously twisted a piece of her around her finger.

“Why’s that?” Hermione tried to keep her voice calm and soothing.

Myrtle looked straight into Hermione’s eye, her expression fearful. “Well, I’m—I’m stupid, and ugly, and have dumb glasses, and, I’m—I’m a Mudblood.” She said this all very quickly and then looked away, as if too afraid to witness Hermione’s reaction at her admission.

The part of Hermione that had gotten her sorted into Gryffindor roared to life, wanting to go find and curse all the mean spirited children who had made this girl's life miserable for the past four years—a muggleborn girl, so much like herself, who’d come into the magical world full of excitement, only to find it full of small-minded people who refused to accept her for what she was,  _ just like  _ the muggles.

“Do not say those things about yourself.” Hermione said, her voice low and unrelenting. In her mind’s eye, she was seeing a bushy-haired, buck-toothed eleven year old, running into the bathroom—‘ _ it’s no wonder she hasn’t got any friends _ ’—she could see a flash of light, a backfired curse and a shower of slugs, as Ron tried to defend her from Malfoy’s sneering face, while all she’d been able to do was stand there, holding in the tears, trying to remain  _ strong _ —and even more viscerally, she could feel the ruthless, slow slicing of a cursed blade across her forearm, all the while hearing Bellatrix’s high pitched chant, ‘ _ mudblood, mudblood _ !’. She poured all of the hardness that came from years of struggling with the doubt, the hurt, the scars, into these words that an awe-struck Myrtle drank up like a prayer: “They are  _ not  _ true.”

Myrtle stared at her, her mouth hanging open. “They… They’re not?” She whispered. 

Hermione shook her head. “No, they’re not. They can only be true if you let them be.” 

Myrtle gazed at Hermione with an expression of pure adulation on her features. “I… I’ve never thought about it that way before.” 

“Yes, well, you should.” Hermione was getting a little uncomfortable, so she broke eye contact and looked around the cabin. Her eyes landed on the book Myrtle had been reading. “Oh, is that Wembley’s  _ Runic Companion _ ? I think his explication of Eastern Nordic Runes is quite riveting.” 

“Huh?” Myrtle glanced over at the book. “Oh, yes. It’s the newest edition!” She shyly peeked at Hermione over the rims of her glasses. “Personally I enjoyed the section on Lost Runic Magic.” 

Hermione grinned. “Yes, that’s a good one, too.” 

The two of them launched into an animated discussion about Ancient Runes. Hermione was actually quite impressed by the girl’s intelligence. She certainly displayed much more critical thought and reasoning than she had while inhabiting the girl’s lavatory. But then, she  _ was  _ a Ravenclaw for a reason. Hermione supposed that she, too, might lose sight of certain things if she’d dedicated her existence to moping in toilet water. She was quite pleased to take this chance to correct her impressions of Myrtle, to meet the real, fleshed-out version of her rather than her shallow echo. It wasn’t even a painful reminder, seeing as she’d never really had warm feelings towards the Myrtle of her time. All in all, she was quite enjoying herself when the compartment door suddenly slid open and an unfortunately familiar pair of Slytherin Prefects strode in. 

Riddle was looking between her and Myrtle with a smirk playing at the corners of his lips. Malfoy looked puzzled. Riddle spoke after a tense minute, his eyes focusing in on her. “Miss Temple, always so full of surprises!” 

Hermione decided to play it cool. Obviously the bookshop incident was still fresh in Riddle’s mind if he'd decided to seek her out, but he wasn't acting… angry,  _ per se _ , at least for now, and she decided to keep it that way for as long as possible. 

“Hello, Mr. Riddle, Mr. Malfoy. It’s nice to see you again.” 

“I imagine so,” Riddle drawled, his smirk growing wider. Well, he was quite the cocky bastard, wasn't he? 

Malfoy was frowning at her. “Miss Temple, it’s lovely to see you again, but why, pray tell, are you sitting in here? Surely you’ve been offered a seat in another carriage?” He glanced at Myrtle, who had shrunk back into herself with the entrance of the Slytherin boys, undoing all the work Hermione had done in the last twenty minutes to make her comfortable. Hermione narrowed her eyes.

“We were just having a conversation.” 

Malfoy looked at her for a moment, and then sneered hideously at Myrtle. In that moment he had never looked more like Draco. “I see. Well I apologize that you've had to share a compartment with something so filthy, Miss Temple. I hope the little Mudblood hasn't made herself too bothersome.”

Hermione instantly took back any and all kind thoughts she had been having about him being more of a gentleman than his grandson; obviously he, like Draco, was only polite to those he deemed worthy. His kindness towards her would evaporate immediately if he ever found out she was a Mudblood. 

“Not at all, Mr. Malfoy,” she responded, unable to keep the ice out of her voice. “I happened upon Myrtle sitting here all alone, and noticed that she was reading a book on Ancient Runes that I've read as well, and that got us talking.”

“So you really are good with runes, then?” Tom smirked at her. He was completely ignoring Myrtle’s presence. 

“Yes, and so is Myrtle.” Hermione said pointedly. “It’s only natural that she and I should bond over common interests.”

“But, Miss Temple!” Malfoy tried again. “I’m not sure if this was clear to you. Miss Warren is a  _ Mudblood _ .”

Hermione just cocked an unimpressed eyebrow. “In my experience, the magical abilities of your parents, or lack therefore, have no bearing on your ability to grasp the grammar of Runic Languages. I don't know what the practice is at Hogwarts, but where I’m from we engage in academic discussions based on the knowledge of our conversation partners,  _ not _ their blood status.” 

Malfoy looked flabbergasted. Riddle looked thoughtful. Myrtle looked like she was caught in between awe and terror. Well, Hermione supposed that no one had ever bothered to defend their acquaintance with her, much less to the likes of these pure-blood supremacists. 

“You are an enigma, Miss Temple.” Riddle finally stated. “You're related to quite the accomplished witch. Yet you choose to consort with Potter’s herd of Gryffindors, and the least respectable Ravenclaw in the nest.”

“I’m afraid I don't see your point, Mr. Riddle.” Hermione said coolly. “Neither one of those things seems to exclude the possibility of the other.” 

Riddle raised one eyebrow. “That's… An interesting perspective.”

“That's one way of putting it…” Malfoy grumbled under his breath. 

Myrtle’s face had turned bright red and she was pressed against the back of her seat so tightly it looked like she was trying to disappear into it. Clearly she found the presence of these Slytherins stressful, and Hermione certainly understood why. In fact, if she hadn't been fuming in indignation about their nasty behavior towards Myrtle, she too might be inclined to quake in fear, given what she knew of both men’s futures. Yes, she decided; she didn't know why they had come, but it was high time for them to leave.

“I seem to recall that the both of you are Prefects.” Hermione said steadily, trying to keep her voice light. “Surely you must have some responsibilities to fulfill during the journey that don't include standing about in our car.”

Riddle tilted his head. “Are you trying to get rid of us, Miss Temple?”  

“Oh, nothing of the sort.” Hermione replied. “I just don't want to be responsible for detaining you if you were to get into trouble. That surely would be a pity.” 

Riddle smirked. “Miss Temple, I think you will soon realize that I am not like the other students. I don't ‘get into trouble’. But your concern over our wellbeing is duly noted and  _ much  _ appreciated.”  

_ What a prat! _ Hermione couldn't stop a scowl from forming on her face. This caused Riddle to laugh, a sound which sent shivers down Hermione’s spine. Voldemort laughing was never a good thing. Even after he fell silent, the amused glimmer in his eyes made Hermione tense up. Next to him, Malfoy was uncomfortable, awkwardly shifting his weight from foot to foot. Myrtle’s face was starting to turn a violent shade of red, and Hermione wasn’t sure she was still breathing. The tense silence seemed to stretch out for ages. 

“So, what,” Hermione finally said when Riddle showed no intention of moving. “You’re just going to stand in our car for the rest of the journey, then?” 

Riddle shrugged, projecting an air of effortless confidence. “Well, you haven’t exactly invited us to sit yet. If you wait any longer, it’ll start getting rude, you know.”

Hermione gaped at him, but then closed her mouth and frowned. “And if we weren’t planning on inviting you to sit?”

Riddle raised an eyebrow at her, and than abruptly turned to look at Myrtle. “Miss Warren, may we sit here?”

Myrtle squeaked and nodded the tiniest bit. Riddle beamed. “Wonderful!” He plopped himself down on the bench next to Myrtle and gestured for Malfoy to sit next to Hermione. After the blonde was seated, Riddle looked at the group and smirked. “Well, isn’t this cosy!”

“Was there any specific reason you came in here?” Hermione asked crossly, quite displeased that her effort to get them out of there had failed. She was trying to control her fear at being trapped in a train compartment with young Voldemort by ignoring it and focusing on her annoyance at Riddle’s presumptuous manner. 

Riddle leaned back against his seat, sprawling himself out and smirking at her. “We can’t be curious about the new transfer student? What  _ if _ it occurred to us that the newest addition to our school might be feeling lonesome on her first train ride among strangers, and we, perfect gentlemen that we are, sought her out, so that she might not feel so lost?” He paused, and his face turned into an expression of mock hurt. “Or are you telling me that our friendly overture is unwelcome?” 

Hermione shifted in her seat. She was still mystified by what he wanted… No she wasn’t, it was the book, it had to be the book. Nothing else made sense, not when he had been so disinterested the first time they had met. How could she get him off her back about it? It would be too obvious that she wanted to keep it from him if  _ she  _ brought it up. He’d be much less likely to forget about it then. Perhaps if she played along with whatever he was trying to do, she could steer the conversation so that he would ask about it. Then she’d be able to say she’d given it to her cousin, and hopefully that would be that. 

But how to excuse her frostiness towards them? If she wanted to trick Riddle, he had to think she was opening up to him. Then she remembered that her false persona was the cousin of a famous witch. Struck by inspiration from having grown up close to  _ the  _ Harry Potter, Hermione started to try and dispel any suspicion he might have at  _ her  _ suspicion. 

“I apologize, Mr. Riddle, and Mr. Malfoy, if I have seemed unwelcoming or rude.” She said after a moment. “It’s just that life with my cousin has taught me to be… weary when I am approached by strangers. You don’t know how many people have tried to get close to me because of her, and how many times I’ve ended up hurt in some way because of it. I know that I really shouldn’t bring these sorts of attitudes with me when starting at a new school, but, old habits die hard.” She smiled weakly at Riddle, and then for good measure, smiled at Malfoy too. 

Next to her, Malfoy was rigid, his knuckles clenched white around the edge of his seat. He met her eyes briefly, but then looked away. He didn’t speak. 

“Oh, of course, Miss Temple!” Riddle said smoothly. “Of course you should be careful! But I assure you, we made this call with only the  _ purest  _ of intentions.” 

Hermione wanted to scoff. Nothing Voldemort had ever done could be considered pure. The only “pure” about him was the blood of his followers, and  _ that  _ certainly didn’t amount to anything! But alas, she’d decided to play nice and hopefully get Tom Riddle to leave her alone, without feelings of ill will. So, she had to attempt a friendly smile.

“Yes, I know I have been quite foolish in suspecting the worst.” Except Tom Riddle certainly intended the worst. “I do hope you can forgive me.” 

“Apology accepted, Miss Temple.” Riddle smirked. “And I daresay Abraxas feels the same. Abraxas?” 

“Of course, Miss Temple.” Malfoy’s words sounded forced. “I did not take any offense at  _ that _ .”

Hermione resisted the urge to scowl at him again for the strange intonation in his response. Instead, she peeked at him out of the corner of her eyes, trying to figure out what his problem was. Suddenly, Myrtle sneezed softly and Malfoy’s expression flashed to one of pure loathing before falling back into his gentlemanly mask of indifference. Oh. He was still on the Mudblood thing. 

Suddenly the door to the compartment did open and another boy stepped into the compartment. He was tall and lean, with shaggy dark hair that fell to his shoulders, slight stubble around his chin, and piercing blue eyes. He was also a Slytherin, based on his tie, and the Head Boy, based on his badge. He was glowering at the Prefects lounging in her and Myrtle’s car. “Riddle! Malfoy! What is the meaning of this? You are Prefects! You should be performing your duties!”

Riddle scowled at the newcomer. “My apologies, Black. Abraxas and I were merely trying to make a new student feel welcome.”

The Head Boy, apparently another Black, blinked at this, and seemed to notice Hermione for the first time. “Oh! I didn't see you there!” He held out his hand to her. “You must be Hermione Temple. I'm Alphard Black. Head Boy, Slytherin.” 

Hermione took his hand, and was pleasantly surprised when he shook it rather than kissing it, as all the other Slytherin boys had. She smiled at him. “It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Black.” She took another look at the man who would one day be Sirius’s “cool” uncle. The way he wore his hair caused a startling resemblance between him and his nephew. 

Alphard grinned at her rakishly. “Oh, please, Miss Temple, call me Alphard. I have too many cousins at Hogwarts to go by my surname without it being confusing.” 

Hermione laughed, recalling a similar problem with the Weasleys in her day. “Very well, Alphard. And you may call me Hermione.” 

Alphard winked at her. “Excellent, Hermione. Welcome to Hogwarts! However, I am afraid that I must rob you of your  _ charming  _ companions, Misters Riddle and Malfoy. They have a duty to fulfill, after all.” His jovial expression turned hard again as he looked back to the Prefects. 

Riddle looked deeply displeased. “And what would you do if we refused to leave?” 

Alphard frowned. “Then I would have to report you to the Headmaster and ask that he reconsider granting you that badge. I won't lie to you, Riddle, I would not feel the least bit distressed if you lost your position.” 

Riddle crossed his arms and spoke rather like a surly child. “Me specifically, or Malfoy too?”

“I have a strong suspicion that this whole affair was not exactly Mr. Malfoy’s idea. He looks particularly… uncomfortable with his current situation.” Alphard glanced towards Myrtle, who was watching the events with an apprehensive furrow of her brow. Hermione noted that her face had returned to a normal color, at least. That was good, she had been worried about the other girl fainting. 

Riddle seemed to contemplate the situation for a moment before sighing loudly and standing up. “Very _ well _ . Let’s get  _ patrolling. _ Malfoy.” He gestured for Malfoy to head out in front of him. Alphard and Malfoy both left, and Riddle made to follow them out. Before he passed Hermione, he suddenly bent down and whispered into her ear: “I haven’t forgotten about that book,  _ Hermione _ . I’ll be wanting that back quite soon.” 

Then he swept out after the other Slytherins and was gone. 

After a moment, Hermione sighed and looked back at Myrtle. “Well. I’m glad that’s over.” Myrtle nodded quickly in agreement, her demeanor starting to return to normal now that the Slytherins had left. She attempted a weak smile. Hermione forced herself to return the expression. “Would you like to talk about Ancient Runes some more?” 

  
  



	6. The Sorting

When Hermione climbed off the train, she was immediately hailed by Fleance Potter and his friends.

“Hey, Hermione!” the dark-haired boy called, waving her over. She hesitated for a second, worried that he might be angry with her for disappearing on the train, but he was looking at her with his usual eager expression, so she made her way over. Euphemia Fawley had her arm laced with Fleance’s. Septimus Weasley was smirking at something over Hermione’s shoulder, Augusta Rookwood was fussing with her bags, and Orpheus Lovegood was staring off into space.

“Hey, Fleance, and, er, everyone.” Hermione said awkwardly. “I’m sorry about leaving you guys on the train, I just… needed some air, and then I ended up sitting with Myrtle Warren from Ravenclaw.” She glanced around, briefly hoping the timid girl would corroborate her story, but she’d been lost in the crowd.

“Oh, you met Myrtle?” Orpheus asked, his eyes whipping in to focus on Hermione. Hermione nodded. Orpheus beamed. “Wonderful, she could use more friends!”

“She actually talked to you?” Fleance sounded incredulous. “I’ve tried to approach her before, thinking she might like to come to the—argh! Um, come to study with us sometime, but she’s just so skittish! Runs away before I can get out what I’m trying to say.”

Hermione furrowed her brow. Fleance had been about to say something before Euphemia had “discreetly” stomped on his foot, and he’d said something else. Well, whatever it was, she wouldn’t press; if they came to trust her later, they surely would let her in on their secrets. Gryffindors hated to keep secrets from their friends, as she very well knew.

“Yes, we talked for quite a while about Ancient Runes.”

“You’re good at runes?” Septimus Weasley asked. Whatever he’d been watching behind her had evidently stopped being so funny because he was now focusing on their group again. “Excellent, you can help me with mine. I’m _abysmal_.”

“Oh, I’m sure you’re not that bad.” Hermione said while trying not to groan at the thought of helping _another_ Weasley boy do his homework. If he was anything like Ron, then she’d end up doing most of the thinking while he would get all of the benefits.

“Oh, trust me, he is,” Augusta chimed in, grinning. “I tutored him up until last year, but then it got to be too much. He just doesn’t get it at _all_.”

“I was doing perfectly fine until we started looking at the Elder Futhark!” Septimus said defensively. “I’d gotten the Younger Futhark down like pat!”

Hermione smirked. “Isn’t the transition from Younger to Elder Futhark halfway through third year, the first year you can take the subject? That was two years ago, then.”

Septimus scowled. “Yeah, well, it’s not like I’m expecting to get an Outstanding O.W.L. in it or anything, I just want to pass the class so I can quit the subject. Hey, how’d you know that, anyhow? ‘Bout the curriculum here?”

Hermione blinked, realizing she’d known something she shouldn’t. “Oh, I, asked Myrtle about the classes here,” she fibbed quickly. Septimus just nodded, believing her automatically. He had no reason not to trust her, after all. She tried to quell the tinge of guilt she felt at that. She’d just been thinking about how Gryffindors hated having secrets from each other, and here she was, lying to cover up hers. Well, the mission called for it, she supposed… it was for the greater good….

By this time, the six of them had made their way from the train platform to one of the carriages waiting to take them up to the castle. Hermione almost screamed when she saw the dark, skeletal creatures harnessed to the front of the carriages before it hit her—thestrals. They’d always been there, she reminded herself, she just hadn’t been able to see them. Now, though… Well, she suddenly found a lot of sympathy for Harry when he’d returned to their fifth year and seen them for the first time. The dark orb inside their eye sockets was particularily unsettling…

“Something the matter, Hermione?” Augusta asked, glancing at Hermione and then at where Hermione was staring, her expression slightly perplexed. Hermione knew that she could only see empty space. The others had climbed into the carriage already.

Hermione shook herself, and then forced herself to smile. “Oh, no. I’m fine. Just a bit nervous.”

Augusta nodded. “Don’t worry, everything will be fine! It might seem overwhelming at first, but you’ll get used to it soon enough. Besides, your cousin is going to be here as well, right? So you’ll have family close by.”

Hermione tried to grin, but it probably looked more like a grimace. “You’re right. Thanks.” She followed the other girl up into the carriage where the rest of the group already sat, chatting excitedly about the start of the year. Once the door closed behind Hermione, the carriage started to move forward.

“So, Hermione,” Euphemia said, smiling sweetly at her. “Fleance says you think you’ll be in Gryffindor or Ravenclaw, yes?”

“If I had to guess, yeah.”

“Why, that's excellent!” Septimus said jovially. “If you get sorted into Gryffindor, you’ve got all of us to show you around, and if you get sorted into Ravenclaw, you’ve got Orpheus. And Myrtle Warren, too, I suppose. We’ll take care of you, don’t worry!”

Hermione smiled wryly. “I appreciate the sentiment, but I'm sure I will be fine. How bad can a bunch of school children be, really?” A certain group of Slytherin boys excepted, of course.

The carriage ride passed in amicable chatter and before she knew it, they had pulled into view of Hogwarts. At the last second, Hermione remembered that she had never seen the castle before and acted suitably impressed.

They climbed out of the carriage and joined the stream of students heading towards the Great Hall. Near the entrance, Hermione spotted a startlingly familiar figure shepherding the first years. It was Albus Dumbledore, alive, well, and… _a redhead_? His beard, long as ever, and his hair, was colored a rich auburn, with only a few streaks of grey. His blue eyes, twinkling merrily, latched onto hers.

“Ah, you must be Miss Temple!” his cheerful voice boomed out. “I’m Professor Dumbledore! Please, if you would be so kind to join the group of unsorted students, we will enter the hall together!”

Hermione glanced at her companions. “See you later, I guess.”

“Ok, bye!”

“Good luck, Hermione!”

“We’ll save a seat for you at the Gryffindor table, yeah?” Septimus said, winking at her before they headed off into the Great Hall. She smiled thinly after them. Suddenly, it had occurred to her to be nervous about this Sorting. What if something… unpredictable happened? What if she ended up… _Don’t even think it_ , she told herself. She wasn’t going to be put _there_.

Standing awkwardly amongst the group of first years while the Great Hall filled up, Hermione felt very out of place. She towered over them while they all chatted nervously and excitedly, occasionally throwing a curious glance up at her. She might have felt better if Dumbledore had conversed with her, but he was too distracted with getting the younger students in order.  

“You look a little old to be a first year!” One of the little boys said, causing all the eleven year olds in ears shot to giggle uncontrollably.

Hermione grimaced, and then wondered why she was so embarrassed. They were eleven, for Godric’s sake. “I’m a transfer student, actually. A fifth year.”

The boy grinned up at her mischievously. “So you’re just as lost as all us first years, then!” He proffered his hand rather cheekily. “I’m Damocles Belby!”

Hermione’s eyes grew wide in amazement as she took his hand, and he proceeded to bring her knuckles to his mouth and kiss them. When he did it, as opposed to the obnoxiously charming pure-blooded Slytherins, she found it rather cute, she thought idly. “Hermione Temple. It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mr. Belby,” she said, chuckling. And it really was; she recognized his name, actually. One day, he was going to invent the Wolfsbane potion that would allow werewolves like Lupin to be a part of Wizarding society.

Grand destiny aside, right now he was just a prepubescent boy, and he was looking a little red behind the ears at her words. “The pleasure’s all mine, Miss Temple.”

Hermione winked at the boy, and then looked up as Dumbledore called on their attention. He introduced himself as the Transfiguration Professor and Deputy Headmaster, and informed them that he would be the one to administer the Sorting ceremony. He then gave a short spiel on why they were being sorted, and then waved them all into the hall. “You’ll be going last, Miss Temple.” Dumbledore whispered to her quickly. She nodded, and he hurried back to the front of the group of first years.

While the flock of first years was busy exclaiming at the enchanted ceiling and the golden dishes, Hermione was busy searching the faces of the people seated there. Most of the occupants of the staff table were looking at her with interest. She noticed Slughorn, looking a bit thinner than he had in her time, and with a full head of blond hair rather than balding and grey, but other than that, he was unchanged from the man she knew in her time. Hermione also immediately spotted Electra—or, “Professor Temple” as she would now be known—smiling at her knowingly. The time-traveling witch looked quite elegant, having donned formal witch’s robes and styled her dark curls in a sophisticated updo. They hadn’t seen each other since they’d parted at King’s Cross this morning. Remembering their conversation from last night, Hermione convinced herself to turn her lips up in a small smile, before, quickly looking away. She still didn’t trust the witch.

All of her new Gryffindor friends were sitting together, sending her encouraging looks. Septimus pointed quite obviously to an empty seat between him and Augusta and then gave her a thumbs up. A number of other Gryffindors were watching her curiously as well, but she suspected that this was because she was the new girl, and perhaps her new friends had talked about her.

At the near end of the Ravenclaw table, she noticed that Myrtle was sitting besides Orpheus, and the two of them were a little separated from the rest of their house. Both smiled when they noticed her gaze on them, but while Orpheus looked spaced out, Myrtle looked reverent. The other Ravenclaws were giving her mixed looks of suspicion and curiosity. It probably wouldn’t be too bad if she had to go sit there, she reflected, although it seemed that the two Ravenclaw friends she had already were the odd ones of the House.

The last place she allowed her eyes to turn to was the fourth table in the hall, where she had the suspicion she would have more than one observer. Sure enough, both Abraxas Malfoy and Tom Riddle, seated amongst an imposing group of boys, were watching her steadily. She raised one eyebrow, as if challenging their stares. Malfoy got the message and looked a little ashamed before tearing his gaze away. Riddle, of course, just go that insufferable smirk on his face. Hermione had the strong urge to reach for her wand and hex it right off.  But that wouldn’t do at all. It didn’t seem like a good idea to be throwing spells at the young Dark Lord in general, let alone in the middle of the full Great Hall. She turned away.

Dumbledore announced the start of the Sorting, and Hermione forced herself to keep her eyes trained on the events on the front of the hall. Every time a new Gryffindor or Hufflepuff was announced, their tables burst into clamorous cheers and applause. For new Ravenclaws and Slytherins, there was polite clapping. It was quite interesting to watch the little first years react to their house placements, some excited, some embarrassed; Hermione even had to cover up a snicker when Damocles Belby nearly tripped down the stairs trying to get to the Ravenclaw table. Much to her delight, she saw him taking a seat next to Orpheus and Myrtle.

Finally all of the first years had been sorted and Hermione was left standing alone in the middle of the Great Hall. Dumbledore beamed at her.

“And now, I would like to welcome our new transfer student, Miss Hermione Temple! She will be joining the fifth-year classes!” He beckoned for her to approach. As she walked up and carefully sat down, an anticipatory hush fell over the student body. Everyone was waiting to see which house would receive Hogwart’s first transfer student in over a decade. With a sudden rush of vertigo, the scene before her flashed, changing out the faces of the forties for the ones of her own time as she’d sat here doing this very same thing—and then Dumbledore placed the hat on her head and everything went dark.

“ _Well, well, well, now this_ is _a surprise_ ,” the Hat rasped in her ear. “ _It seems we have a soldier of time in our midsts. You’re not supposed to be here, you know, Miss Granger._ ”

“ _It certainly wasn’t my decision!_ ” Hermione thought back crossly. The Hat’s mocking tone was quite unnecessary.  

“ _Yes, I can see that,”_ the Hat seemed to chuckle. _“And you’re holding quite the grudge over that, aren’t you_ ? _Is it very wise to hold such a powerful witch in contempt? Perhaps you rushed your judgement._ ”

“ _I don’t need a lecture_ .” Hermione thought back, her fists clenching. “ _It’s been a long day and I’m sure everyone here is hungry. Can’t you just shout GRYFFINDOR and be done with it?_ ”

“ _So you want back into the Lion’s Den, do you?”_ The Hat’s voice was bemused. _“Ah, yes I see. You’re longing for their warmth, their comfort, their familiarity. You want to return to your childhood home._ ”

Hermione scowled, certain the Hat would sense her annoyance. “ _And what’s wrong with that_?”

“ _You are not a child anymore, Miss Granger.”_ The Hat said, its voice suddenly harsh. “ _You might be posing as one, but you are an adult, both by age and by experience. And like it or not, you have a job to do. Completing that job will require certain_ sacrifices _on your part.”_

Hermione suddenly wondered if Electra had somehow tampered with the Hat beforehand to get it on her side.

 _“No, Miss Granger, nothing of the sort. I can see the dire nature of the situation from your memories, both of her and of how history went the first time around._ _I also have the rare privilege of having seen into the mind of the very one you’re here to circumvent. Your best chance of succeeding, I think, is to get as close as possible._ ”

No. “ _You can’t put me_ there _, I won’t fit!_ ” She thought desperately. “ _I don’t even need Gryffindor, that’s fine, but put me in Ravenclaw! Slytherins like Ravenclaws, at least!”_

 _“Miss Granger, do give me some credit. I wouldn’t throw you into the Snake Pit if you couldn’t survive it. You might have the heart of a lion, and perhaps the mind of a raven, but you certainly have plenty of serpentine cunning. As you’ve matured, you’ve displayed more and more ruthless brilliance to achieve your goals_ . _Lying, stealing, scheming_ . _You would do well in Slytherin even without a mission_ , _that I can guarantee._ ”

 _“Harry said that you took his decision into account! That you would let us decide!_ ” She couldn’t believe it; first Electra and now the Sorting Hat were trying to ruin her life! “ _I don’t_ want _to be in Slytherin_!”

“ _If a frightened eleven year old is suited for more than one house and thinks they will adjust better to one, I might be amenable to suggestion,_ ” the Hat said snidely. _“But, Miss Granger, as I said before, you are_ not a child. _You do not need comfort, you need opportunity. Being coddled will do you no good. No, I’ve made up my mind. It’s got to be_ —

—SLYTHERIN!”

The traitorous Hat was pulled off her head and Hermione stared, shell-shocked, as the House in question gave another polite round of applause. She mechanically stood up and trudged over to their table. People were talking around her, but a roaring in her ears made it impossible for her to discern what they were saying. She was searching desperately for an empty space that was as far away from Riddle and his crew as possible—somehow there was a vacancy between him and Malfoy, which she suspected had been made just for her—when suddenly a firm male hand hand reached out and grabbed her arm.

“Sit here, Hermione?” Alphard Black asked, glancing quickly to where Riddle was sitting and then smiling up at her. “I'm Head Boy, so it's only natural that I should answer your questions.”

Hermione nodded gratefully. The girl he’d been sitting next to scooted over and she slipped down beside him.

“Welcome to Slytherin!” Alphard said.

Hermione grimaced. “Thanks.”

Alphard looked at her shrewdly. “It’s not what you were expecting, is it?”

“Not exactly, no,” she replied truthfully. “I honestly thought I was a shoe-in for Ravenclaw.” She probably shouldn’t admit to her new— _ugh_ —snakey housemates that she’d practically begged the Hat to put her in Gryffindor.  

“Well, be that as it may, I’m sure you’ll fit right in. It really is a pleasure to have you here!” He seemed to be genuinely happy that she was there, aside from the occasional furtive glance he would throw Riddle and his crew. Hermione was saved from having to come up with a suitable reply when Headmaster Dippet began his welcome speech.

Hermione tuned it out and took a moment to process what had just happened. By the time it was over, she had been able to somewhat come to grips with her new situation. So, she had just been placed into Slytherin, house for entitled, bigoted rich kids, current membership including none other than Young Voldemort and his motley crew of Mudblood-hating Death Eaters. She would find a way to adapt, and do it quickly, because failure was not an option.

And for some reason, Alphard Black was trying to keep her away from Riddle, a fact which she was immensely grateful for. She knew she would need to get closer to Riddle eventually, but she wanted to do it on her terms, when she was more familiar with her surroundings. If Alphard was willing to act as a buffer of sorts until then, well, that was just fine with her. As the speech died down and food appeared on the table, Hermione looked back at the Head Boy and gave him a real, appreciative smile.

“Thanks for letting me sit here.”

“Oh, it’s no problem.” Alphard grinned at her as he started to dish up his dinner. “I’m just lucky I’ve snagged the most interesting conversation partner for this meal. And maybe the prettiest!” He winked.

“Don’t let Minerva hear you talking like that, Alph.” The girl to Hermione’s left spoke. She had dark skin, dark brown eyes, and long black hair. She was quite pretty. After she’d given Alphard a fierce but unconvincing scowl, she smiled charmingly and winked at Hermione.

“Minerva’s his girlfriend. She’s the Head Girl and a Gryffindor, so don’t let this scoundrel flirt too much, or the both of you might be on the receiving end of some retaliation for her wounded pride. I’m Desirée Zabini, by the way.”

Hermione choked on a mouthful of pumpkin juice and then coughed a few times.

“Are you alright?” Zabini asked, frowning at her.

Hermione nodded. She really had to stop being so shocked every time she recognized a name! Someone was bound to get suspicious eventually. “Yes, sorry, just swallowed wrong. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss Zabini.”  

The girl waved her hand. “Oh, please, call me Des.”

“Don’t forget about us!” The girl sitting across from them said. She was pretty too, with long, golden blonde hair, smooth pale skin, and lovely, aristocratic features. She delicately proffered a hand to Hermione, who shook it. “I’m Lucretia Black. Alphard’s cousin. I’m in fifth year as well. I’m a Prefect.”

Hermione smiled. “Pleasure.”

The good looking boy with light brown hair sitting next to her also offered his hand, and when Hermione took it, he raised it to his lips to kiss. Ah, another Slytherin gentleman. “Byron Avery, at your service, ma’am.”

Hermione blinked at finding that name in Alphard’s group. The Head Boy seemed to be against Riddle for some reason; shouldn’t the Avery be over with the other Death Eaters? Maybe he was spying for Riddle. Well, she’d figure it out later; right now she should focus on being polite. “Pleasure,” she said again. “And, well, you all know who I am.” They nodded.

“Des and Byron are sixth years,” Alphard informed her. “Des is a Prefect too. You’ve already have met Riddle and Malfoy, the male Prefects of our House. Although I think you’ll find it easiest to come to us with questions. The two of them are always busy with… other things.”

Her four new Slytherin acquaintances exchanged a look at this. She figured she knew what it was about already, but she probably _shouldn’t_. Hermione opened her mouth and was about to ask what it meant, but Alphard shook his head.

“Not here,” he said quietly. For a moment he looked… worried. Then he said, louder, “You know, Hermione, it might be good for you to meet the Head Girl! Why don’t I bring you by the Heads’ Common Room after dinner? Des can come too, and show you to your dorm from there.”

“That sounds nice,” Hermione agreed. She knew the Head Girl was named Minerva, and a Gryffindor… Could it possibly be her future Transfiguration professor and Head of House? If it were really a young McGonagall, Hermione could count that as one of the few people she knew personally in both time lines, not simply their relatives. It would be interesting to see how McGonagall had been as a student. Dumbledore and Slughorn, the other familiar faces, while both significantly younger, still behaved similarly to how she had known them in her day, from what she could tell. Then there was Tom Riddle… Aside from his handsome exterior and polite facade, Hermione wasn’t sure just how much he had changed in fifty years…. And honestly, she wasn’t sure if she could bring herself to find out. It’s not as if tailing him and preventing the Horcrux creation meant that she had to become his best friend or anything. He didn’t even have friends.

“So, Hermione,” Avery smiled at her. “You’ve been taught by your cousin all these years, right? What’s she like as a teacher?” It seemed they would be speaking of Riddle no longer; that was fine with her, anyway.

“She’s very…” Hermione thought back on her time under Electra’s tutelage, learning spells and tactics and histories that would be “of use” to her in this mission. Although it had only been two months, and not the four years that everyone believed, it still had been enough to get a taste of her particular teaching style. There were not many words to easily describe it, but perhaps… “Insistant.”

“What do you mean by that?” Lucrecia asked.

Hermione took a bite of her food and swallowed, before trying to explain more. “Well, she comes up with the knowledge she wants you to have and then almost shoves it down your throat, insisting that you _can_ know it and you _will_ do it and then expects you to perform, again and again, until it’s perfect.”

“Sounds intense,” Avery remarked after a moment. “But it might be different if she’s instructing a whole classroom of students. It was just you before, right?”

Hermione nodded. “Yeah. I suppose we shall see. And I’m also looking forward to having teachers other than her, to be honest. What are _they_ like?”

This launched an analysis of the current Hogwarts teachers that stretched through the rest of the meal. Slughorn was popular, with the Slytherins at least. They described Dumbledore as “unfortunately brilliant” given that he was the Gryffindor Head of House. Much to her dismay, it seemed that a living Professor Binns was teaching History of Magic, and from the sound of it, he was just as dreadful at teaching alive as he would be in the afterlife. The Herbology and Charms professors, Professor Veriday and Professor Trill, seemed to be adequate. Avery kept trying to convince her that Professor Sullen, the Astronomy professor, was secretly an evil vampire, which the other three denied (Hermione gathered that Avery had failed that particular O.W.L.). Alphard and Lucretia both highly praised the Arithmancy professor, Professor Hyperion. She got mixed reviews on the Ancient Runes professor, Professor Finley. Des said he was brilliant, but Avery said he was useless (again, Hermione suspected that Avery’s own academic shortcomings might have something to do with his attitude, but she kept that to herself). She wasn’t planning on taking Care of Magical Creatures, Divination, or Muggle Studies, so she didn’t bother to ask about those ones.

“Only nine O.W.L.s, then?” Lucretia teased, grinning. “You strike me as the type to go for more. You wanted to be in Ravenclaw, right? Most of them take eleven or twelve.”

Hermione shrugged. In truth, she might have been tempted to take as many subjects as possible (case and point: her third year, and her first experience with time travel). However, even if she thought she wouldn’t have minded doing Care of Magical Creatures or Muggle Studies, to get a taste of what they might have been like in this time period, she hadn’t wanted to overcommit her time. Not when she had other worries, like keeping Tom Riddle of her trail while she stayed on his.

“I didn’t want to overdo it. It’s a new experience for me, starting in formal school and all,” she fibbed. “I just thought I would see what I can handle this year. Maybe after that I’ll pick up a few more N.E.W.T.S. And then, who knows, maybe a Mastery or two...”

“Well, she’s certainly ambitious enough to be in Slytherin!” Alphard laughed. “Let’s just hope you stop there and don’t use your swottiness to take over the world!”

Hermione forced herself to chuckle. She knew of one particular studious student who _would_ try to take over the world, and he happened to be sitting not halfway down the table. _If they only knew…_ “Nah, I don’t really fancy ruling the world,” she said, trying to sound nonchalant. “Seems like there’d be an awful lot of bother, and then what? You’d have nothing left to gain. No, I think my talents are better applied to other pursuits. Perhaps I’ll become the first witch to use magic on the moon.”

Avery looked at her curiously. “You’re a strange one, Temple,” he said after a moment. “A snake, but not exactly your garden variety.” After a moment, he grinned. “I think I like you.”

Hermione grinned back, and surprisingly, it wasn’t forced. “Thank you.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's it for now! I've messed with a lot of ages, names, and relationships of the Riddle-Era students to suit my purposes, so yeah.  
> I'll put the next chapter up next week.  
> Hope you're enjoying it, and if not, that's fine, because I sure am :) 
> 
> Happy Holidays!


	7. Two Meetings

The feast had been cleared away and students were beginning to head out of the Hall towards the dormitories. Lucretia excused herself and went about the table collecting the Slytherin first years. As the fifth year Prefect, she had to show them the Common Room, along with Riddle. Hermione wasn’t sure whom she pitied more: Lucrecia, who would have to put up with him, or the innocent firsties, who might seek comfort or guidance from Riddle and end up getting snapped at by the future Dark Lord.

Avery bid them farewell too, and Hermione was left with Alphard and Desirée. Alphard offered her his right arm and Des his left arm, and led them out of the hall and through the corridors. As they walked, he pointed out numerous things he thought might be of interest to a new student, and she had to be suitably impressed or terrified by the things he told her, since it was her first time hearing about them, after all.

Finally they reached the tapestry that hid the entrance to the Heads’ Common Room and Dormitories. Alphard glanced up and down the hallway and then whispered so quietly that Hermione almost missed it: “ _signum secretum_.”

Hermione stared at him as the tapestry rolled up to reveal a short hallway into the red and green Heads’ Common Room. Alphard quickly pulled her and Des inside and the tapestry rolled shut behind them. “The password for your Common room is literally the Latin for ‘secret password’?” She asked, her eyebrows shooting up. “I’m sure no one would _ever_ figure that one out.”

Alphard scowled. “Trust me, I know how pathetic it is. But Dippet thinks it’s terribly clever and he’s the one who sets it. Minerva and I have been begging him to let us pick something else, but he won’t budge. We thought that our mutual appointment this year would mean we’d have an extra secure space to meet, but how can we with a password as facile as that!”

Hermione nodded in agreement, and then frowned. “Why do you need a secure place to meet?” Surely he wasn’t _that_ worried about someone discovering something between him and his girlfriend? It hadn’t seemed like he was trying to hide their relationship.

“That’s actually why we brought you here.” Desirée said. She walked into the room and perched herself on a sleek green sofa next to the fireplace; across from it was a large, overstuffed red couch that looked like it had been taken straight from the Gryffindor common room. “We wanted to make sure that you understand what’s going on in Slytherin House before you end up in the middle of it.”

Hermione was certain she knew what, or rather, _who_ , this was about, but she did her best to appear confused. Furrowing her brow, she looked between the two Slytherins. “What do you mean? I need to fear my own house?”

Alphard sighed and ran a hand over the stubble on his chin. “Look, why don’t you have a seat? There’s a lot to explain.”

Hermione lowered herself onto the couch next to Desirée and looked up at Alphard expectantly. Once he saw her seated, the Head Boy started pacing as around the room.

“I’m going to come right out and say it—Tom Riddle and his friends are dangerous. Ever since last year they’ve been acting like they own the school. Bullying, stealing, cursing… A couple of students have ended up in the Hospital Wing!”

None of this was surprising, but she had to act horrified. She gasped. “Why, that’s horrible! Why haven’t they been stopped?”

Alphard spoke through gritted teeth. “Because Riddle’s an evil genius, that’s why! There’s never any _bloody_ proof! Dippet and the rest of the professors are wrapped around his freakishly-pale fingers and there’s nothing we can do about it!”

“If there’s no proof, how are you sure it’s Riddle?” Hermione asked, curious about how Alphard had come to his conclusion. Riddle was supposed to have the whole school fooled, wasn’t he?  

Alphard laughed once, short and bitter. “I can guess. There can only be so many perfect coincidences of him being in the right place at the wrong time. What’s more, the git practically told me himself! Tried to get me in on it, in the beginning. Came to me with some cock and bull story about him being Salazar Slytherin’s heir, of all things, and ranting about how we should follow him to create a noble and glorious future for purebloods!”

Hermione cocked an eyebrow. She knew that Alphard was at least different enough from the rest of his family to be decent to Sirius, but he was still a Black. _Toujours Pur_ and all that. “That… Didn’t appeal to you?”

Alphard looked at her, his eyes blazing. “Of course not! That tripe might have worked on my idiot cousins, but it would never convince _me_ ! I don’t give a damn who anyone’s parents are, I just want to live my own life, damn it! My _girlfriend_ is a muggle-born! How could I condone terrorizing them?”

“So you’re saying that Riddle targets muggle-borns, specifically,” she said thoughtfully. Was his agenda so clear, even this early on?  

“Yes and don’t even pretend that you could support it! I saw you with Myrtle Warren, and I’m _sure_ that Malfoy made it perfectly clear to you what she was. I could tell immediately that you aren’t like them, Hermione,” he said seriously. “That’s why I invited you here tonight.”

“To meet your girlfriend in your common room?”

Alphard smiled, but it was grim. He shook his head. “To join the alliance.”

Well, that was new. “There’s an anti-Riddle alliance?”

“I suppose you could call it that, yes. We started it a couple of months before the end of last year when things started getting really bad. We don’t… We don’t actively fight with Riddle, not really, but we… we’re united against him. If all else fails, we’ve got each other.”

“Huh.” This was an interesting development. According to everything she’d heard about this time period, all of the students had been just as enamored with Tom Riddle as the Professors were. Perhaps Dumbledore had never heard of an Anti-Riddle alliance at Hogwarts, or perhaps it just hadn’t done anything significant enough to warrant mention. Well, either way, it was a relief to know that there were other students who would understand her weariness of Riddle. She would join it, obviously. Her entire existence in this time period was Anti-Riddle, after all. Perhaps they’d be able to offer her support in her mission.

“Who all is in this alliance?” she finally decided to ask.  

Alphard started counting on his fingers. “Me, Minerva, Des, and Byron. Lucretia, although it’s harder for her to do anything because her brothers are part of Riddle’s crew. Thank Salazar I was able to get her to see sense. Other than that, it’s just some of the Gryffindors.”

“Which ones?” Hermione asked, a hopeful suspicion forming in the back of her head.

Alphard shrugged. “Um, Fleance Potter, Septimus Weasley, Euphemia Prewett, Augusta Rookwood… Minerva picked them out. She said that Potter and Weasley were in danger of getting themselves hurt they way they were going against Riddle and his friends, so she thought it would be good if we invited them to come to our… Solidarity meetings.”

Hermione was grinning. “I know them all. I sat with them on the Hogwarts Express before I sat with Myrtle, and again in the carriage on the way here.”

Alphard blinked. “Oh. Good.”

“Don’t forget that loopy Ravenclaw they drag around,” Des added. She’d been silent the whole time that Alphard had been talking, picking at the hem of her skirt with her fingernails.

“Ah, yes. Orpheus Lovegood. I’m sure if you were with Potter, you met him too.” Hermione nodded. “Anyway, we get together sometimes and… blow off steam. Talk about how to avoid him. We try our best to keep the younger students out of their way. Those of us who are Prefects can give them detention if we catch them cursing in the corridors or breaking curfew.” Alphard sighed heavily. “I think, though, that he’s starting to catch on. I noticed them starting to tail us at the end of last year, and lurking around the empty classrooms we used to meet in.” His expression turned sour. “ _That’s_ why Minerva and I were so pleased to be made Heads together, and _that’s_ why it’s such a problem that the password is bloody ‘ _secret password_ ’!”

“Maybe Riddle doesn’t know Latin,” Des suggested halfheartedly. “Or maybe he won’t think of it.”

“Riddle knows Latin.” Hermione informed them. They both looked at her, confused and surprised. “I met him at Flourish and Blotts a week ago and we ended up getting into a…bit of argument over who got to buy a book. The book was in Latin, so I’m assuming he knows at least some of the language, or he wouldn’t have bothered.”    

Alphard frowned. “You got into an argument with Riddle?”

Hermione nodded, and Des gasped. “He didn’t do anything to you?”

Hermione shrugged. “Not really, I mean we were in the middle of a book shop, what could he have done? Although I didn’t stay around long enough to see his whole reaction, I just took the book and bolted.”

Alphard’s eyebrows shot up. “Wait, _you_ got the book?”

Hermione smirked. “I tricked it out of him. It was priceless.”

“That does explain why he was bothering you on the train,” Alphard muttered. He looked at Hermione sharply. “Say, what’s this book about?”

Hermione bit her lip, unsure of how much to tell them. Should she say that Riddle wanted to book because he thought it might contain secrets about becoming immortal? She was certain that none of the other students had worked out just how grand his aspirations were, and she didn’t know what they might do with that information. But, she realized, she didn’t actually _need_ to explain Riddle’s interest in the book, because how _should_ she have known when she’d only met him that same day? And as for her own interest, well. She wouldn’t say she needed it to figure out how to escape from her futuristic kidnapper and get back to her time on her own terms. She could just say she wanted to challenge her mastery of the language.

“It’s called _Tempus Imortalium_ , which means time of the Immortals. The portion I’ve translated so far is a bunch of conspiracy theories about how the Greco-Roman gods were actually time traveling witches and wizards who used their knowledge of the future and advanced magic to be worshiped like gods,” she explained. “I’m not really sure why Riddle wants it. Personally, I was interested in the unique challenge it presented in translating, as it’s a mix of Classical and Medieval Latin. And I would be damned if I let some pushy boy take away my rare find! That’s why I tricked him out of it.”

“Hm…” Alphard pursed his lips. “I can’t imagine why Riddle wants it, although I can’t see him saying no to being worshiped like a god. Still. We might be able to use this.”

Hermione frowned. “Use it?”   

“Yes...” He paused and bit his lip, and then slowly nodded his head. “If Riddle wants it badly enough, he’s going to try and go after it, I think. With that in mind, why don’t you leave it here, in the Heads common Room?”

She stared at him, perplexed.“But don’t you think he could guess the password?”

Alphard shrugged. “Maybe, maybe not. If he doesn’t come after it or can’t get in, then we’re keeping him from something he wants, which is a victory to me. If he does, well… I can set up some kind of magical surveillance. We could catch him in the act.”

“So you want to set a trap and bait it with my rare book?”

“Like I said before. There’s never any proof when he breaks the rules. I’d very much like to change that.”

Des cleared her throat and gave the Head Boy a pointed look. “Alphard, are you sure you want to go that route again? It didn’t work out so well last time.”

Alphard glared at his friend. “This is our private Common room, and they’d be breaking into it, so they won’t have time to poke around first! And really, it was just luck that that imbecile Thaddeus Nott found my Echobox,” he grumbled, naming a crude form of magical spy equipment that picked up and preserved nearby sounds for a short amount of time. “If the idiot wouldn’t have tripped just then…”

Des crossed her arms. “Alphard, Riddle’s _smart_. He would anticipate your move. Especially since you blew it with the Echobox! He’d just break whatever you’ve got set up, get what he wants, and leave us empty handed. Why don’t we put more effort into keeping it from him? We could put it up in Minerva’s room,” she suggested. “There are extra wards to keep boys out.”

Alphard scowled. “He’s smart, but so am I! I can catch him in the act! Come on, Des, don’t you want _proof_? Don’t you want to bring him down?”

“I’d rather keep us safe!”

The two of them glared at each other fiercely for a moment and Hermione decided to interrupt. “So I hear you both,” she began, looking both of them in the eyes, “and you each have a point. But shouldn’t this be my decision? I mean, it is _my_ book. If Riddle steals it, then, well, it’s my loss.”

“Of course,” Alphard responded after a second. “I would never risk your property without your consent.” He smiled a bit sheepishly. “So, what do you think? Would you be willing to take the risk to bring Riddle down?”

Des caught Hermione’s eyes and shook her head. “It’s no good, Hermione. Riddle’s not going to be caught that easily. We shouldn’t let him have _anything_ else that doesn’t belong to him!”  

Hermione bit her lip. She wasn’t really sure which option to pick. She didn’t know nearly enough about what things were like, what this version of Tom Riddle was like, to guess if there was any chance of a plan like Alphard’s succeeding. And really, what would it do to him in the long run to be caught stealing a book? It probably wouldn’t get him expelled. He would just talk his way out of it. But then, hadn’t Dumbledore warned him when he was eleven that stealing from other students wouldn’t be tolerated at Hogwarts? Maybe it would give the Deputy Headmaster the leverage he needed to make others suspicious of Tom...

“I’m not actually finished with my own translation of the book,” she finally said, “and I’d rather not lose it before I’m done. Maybe once I’ve finished with it, I’ll let Alphard come up with something.” She didn’t want to commit to anything, not when she didn’t know the extent of the book’s contents. What if it referenced how to make Horcruxes or where to get the Philosopher's Stone or something? _She_ didn’t want to be the one responsible for giving him that knowledge earlier than he was supposed to have it.  

“That’s reasonable,” Alphard said nodding. “But the Slytherin dorms aren’t _really_ secure. Bring it by here sometime this week, and I’ll get Minerva to store it in her room. Alright?”

Hermione agreed and Alphard sighed, collapsing heavily onto the plush red couch across from them. “I guess that’s it, then. I have no clue when Minerva’s going to be back, and that was just for Riddle’s benefit, anyway. I’ll introduce you two tomorrow… Des can show you to your dorm now, if you’d like.”   
Hermione couldn’t help but grimace. She’d known she’d have to go down to the Slytherin Common Room eventually, but she really wasn't looking forward to becoming personally familiar with the secret snake lair under the lake… She and Des both stood up and bid Alphard goodnight.

As they were walking towards the entrance, he called after them, “You’re welcome to come into our Common room any time you like, you know! Any of us can. Just don’t let the password or the fact that we meet here get out of the group.”

“Of course not, thank you,” Hermione replied. She and Des left the Heads’ room and the sixth year Prefect began leading Hermione down to the dungeon.

When they were halfway there Des stopped in her tracks and looked at Hermione. “Riddle’s my ex-boyfriend, by the way,” she said quietly.

“Huh?” Since when did Lord Voldemort have a love life?

“Last year. I thought he was sincere, but he was actually using me. Trying to get some old book my family had. I found out and broke things off. That’s when I started hanging out with Alphard and Minerva.” She shrugged nonchalantly. “It’s no big deal, I just didn’t want you to hear about it from someone else and think that I had something to hide.”

“Oh.” Hermione considered this information. Well, Riddle was very charming and handsome, and Des was very pretty. She supposed that to the rest of the school, a relationship between the two would have made sense. What she was more curious about, however, was Riddle’s real intentions. “What was the book? The one he was after?”

Des shrugged again, resuming the walk down the corridor. “I’m not even sure, it was something my grandfather kept in his library. He’d gotten it at an auction decades ago, and no one could open it. The only reason we kept it around was because he insisted. Anyway, it disappeared the day after Riddle visited me over Christmas break. I put two and two together, and, well,” she smiled bitterly, “he actually wasn’t _that_ great of a boyfriend.”

Hermione snorted. “I can imagine.” She was curious about what Riddle could have taken, but, she reflected, it probably wasn’t of the utmost importance to her and her mission. It had been taken so long ago that her and Electra’s time travel couldn’t have had anything to do with him getting it, unlike the book she’d brought to his attention at Flourish and Blotts.

Des kept glancing at Hermione and seemed to be waiting for some sort of other reaction, so Hermione smiled at her reassuringly. “I don’t judge you for having dated him, if that’s what you’re worried about. I’m sure he seemed nothing but charming. He’s as duplicitous a Slytherin as they come.”

The other girl smiled in relief. “Good. Honestly, looking back, I can’t believe that I fell for it all. I was only ever a means to an end for him. The good thing is that he took the break-up rather well, probably because he’d already gotten what he wanted. Now he pretty much just ignores me, which I can’t say I mind.”

“That _would_ be a relief,” Hermione said emphatically, thinking about what Riddle had said to her on the train about getting the book. “I wish he would ignore me.”

Des looked at her pityingly. “Yes, I don’t envy you. He was willing to go through the motions of a three month long relationship just to get some crummy old journal from my family. I’ve no clue what lengths he’ll go to with you. Just… don’t let your guard down, Hermione.”

Hermione nodded. “That’s the plan.” She looked at Des again. “I guess… Thank you. For warning me, I mean. Looking out for me.”

“Oh, don’t get me wrong,” Des said casually. “If Riddle starts going after you, I’m not going to put myself in the middle of it. That would accomplish nothing except risking my own neck, which I certainly wouldn’t do for your sake. I _am_ a Slytherin, after all.” Hermione was a little put out by this, and it must have shown, because Des smirked at her before saying smoothly, “But even in Slytherin, a little fair warning is considered good form. Especially to those we like.”

“Well… Still. Thank you,” Hermione said. She really _shouldn’t_ expect a girl whom she’d just met that very night to promise to stand up to Riddle for her. They weren’t in Gryffindor, after all. So she chose to interpret Des’ words as an expression of goodwill, even if it was not the sort of goodwill Hermione was used to. Perhaps, she reflected, as they made their way into the dungeons, she was on her way to making a Slytherin friend.

**—0—**

Riddle hated the first-years. They were obnoxious, tiny, whining little things who had yet to figure out how things worked around here, and so thought that, just because he happened to be a Prefect, he should be there for them and hold their hands and walk them to the Common Room and reassure them that it would all be ok and all that _sickening_ nonsense! He consoled himself with the fact that this evening was the one and only time he would be responsible for the entire group of first years, and also that Lucretia Black was the other fifth year Slytherin Prefect, and she didn’t seem to mind the grubby little cretins’ endless whining. She actually seemed to be fond of them, for some unfathomable reason. Perhaps it was a woman thing.

After he’d finally dropped the little mites in their dormitories, he returned to the Common Room just in time to see Lucretia hurrying towards the exit.

“In a rush, Miss Black?” He asked. His voice was polite and casual. Lucretia, being the sister of two of his Knights, would undoubtedly know to obey him without any sort of coercion necessary. Lucretia was always sensible like that, although she did spend a bit too much time with her detestable cousin for his taste.

The blonde girl smiled and answered in a pleasant tone. “Actually yes, Mr. Riddle. I’ve arranged to meet with some of my friends in other houses tonight after the long summer. Getting the first-years settled took longer than I anticipated, and so now I’m running a bit late.”

“Ah.” So, she was off to see Alphard and the Gryffindor pals? He _did_ wonder what they all got up to together. Ever since the end of last year, when Alphard and Tom’s ex-girlfriend Des Zabini had started giving Nott and Lestrange detentions that interfered with his meetings, he had been harboring suspicions that their efforts might be a bit more _coordinated_ than he would have liked. He also had a feeling that Alphard was deliberately keeping Hermione Temple away from him, which was _not_ something he would tolerate. Perhaps Lucretia would confirm that for him. “You know, I happened to notice that you spoke with the new girl, Hermione Temple at the feast tonight.”

Lucretia’s smile never wavered as she nodded. She was good at the Slytherin game, he would give her that. “Yes, since Alphard is Head Boy and Des and I are both female Prefects, it made sense for her to sit with us and ask questions.”

Tom gritted his teeth. The way that Alphard had grabbed the new girl before Tom had had a chance to wave her over to him irked him considerably. As soon as the Hat had pronounced her a Slytherin, he had decided on two things: first, she must be shown how things worked as quickly as possibly, namely that he was in charge and she would do as he said, and second, he would set about evaluating her potential usefulness. Leave it to Alphard Black to come between him and his plans. Still, he needed to know as much as possible before deciding how to proceed. “Oh? What questions did she have?”

Lucretia shrugged. “Mostly she asked about classes and professors. She’s never had a teacher other than her cousin, so she was wondering about teaching styles and such.”

How boring. “Well I hope she doesn’t find the change too jarring. Anyway, I shouldn’t keep you from your meeting any longer.” He had his own meeting to get to, after all.

“Goodnight, Riddle,” Lucretia said politely, and she slipped out of the Common Room.

As soon as she was gone, Tom glanced around to make sure he was alone, and then strode to the center of the room. He concentrated on the image of a serpent in the portrait above the fireplace and hissed in parseltongue, “ _Ssshare your secretss_.”

He waited for a moment, but nothing happened. He walked around the expanse of the room and tried the same thing in different places with other snake pictures, but still no luck. Ah well, he hadn’t really thought it would be that easy.

After this was done, Riddle left the Common Room and slipped into one of his secret passageways. Soon enough, he had walked the familiar twists and turns of Hogwart’s corridors up to the seventh floor and arrived at the door to the Room of Requirement, where his Knights should already be gathered.

He strode in and found four of the boys seated around the black wood table the room conjured for these meetings. Orion Black and Emmet Lestrange were currently engaged in a mindless game similar to Muggle rock-paper-scissors. Nott had his head down on the table and it looked like he had fallen asleep. Abraxas was sitting straight up, stiff as a board, and staring off into the distance, lost in thought. None of them noticed Tom’s silent approach until he’d slipped into the chair at the head of the table.

Hadn’t he decided to torture Rosier tonight? His absence was unacceptable. “Where are Cygnus and Rosier?” He asked, directing a frown at Orion. Cygnus was his brother, after all. _There were too many damned Blacks at this school._

It was Abraxas who answered. “They have been waylaid by Avery in our dormitory again, My Lord.”

Tom scoffed. “That pathetic fool _again_? You would think he would know when to give up on a lost cause!” Ever since he’d formed the Knights last year, Byron Avery had been trying to get into Tom’s good graces so that he could join. Despite being a pureblood, he was a very unimpressive wizard, and his family’s influence had dwindled significantly in the past few decades, so Tom considered him quite useless. And given the fact that Tom was sure Avery’s continued interest in catching his favor had more to do his former best friends, Cygnus and Rosier, no longer having time for his pathetic drivel, and not any real desire to serve Tom and his cause, Tom really couldn’t care less about him. “If he tries to interfere with our plans this year, he’s going to regret it,” Tom announced. “And I won’t even be bothered, one of you will have to do it.”

The other boys nodded grimly, accepting that it was Tom’s right to command them to torture even one of their own kind.

Tom looked at Orion again and scowled. “Oh, and the same thing goes for your cousin. It’s been less than five hours and he’s already gotten on my nerves! Twice!”

Orion lowered his head. “I apologize, My Lord, but I unfortunately have no control over his actions. Alphard has always gone his own way. Our grandfather always says that--”

“I don’t care about your family drama,” Tom snapped, and Orion immediately shut up. Tom looked at the rest of the Knights. “Well, I suppose I’ll start the meeting, and you can tell Cygnus and Rosier what they’ve missed later.”

“Certainly, My Lord,” the other boys muttered.

“Good. Now, down to business.” He reached into his bag and pulled out the old book that he had spent the summer furtively translating behind the horrid Orphanage Matron’s back. “Remember this?”

“It’s the book you got from Zabini’s house,” Lestrange said after a moment. “Slythrin’s journal.” Tom nodded.

“I finished my translation. I must say, Salazar Slytherin was _quite_ determined to ensure that only his progeny would be learning his secrets. There were so many curses between the pages that could only be deactivated by parseltongue.” Tom smirked at his followers’ awed expressions. Really, ever since he’d convinced them of the truth behind his lineage, they’d been overly impressed by anything he did. It was starting to get a little old, but it was still better than how he’d been treated his first two years at school.

“You all are probably wondering what I’ve found in it,” He prompted after a moment.

Lestrange caught on first, as usual. “Oh, yes!”

Abraxas nodded. “Of course, My Lord!”

Nott added quickly, “What did you find?”

Tom rolled his eyes at their pathetically blind obedience and willingness to please, but he decided against continuing to mock them in favor of getting to his point. Despite his plans for the future, he still was prone to the detestable human condition, which meant that he had to regularly engage in mundane activities such as sleep. And if he let this meeting go on too far into the night, he would be plagued by exhaustion the next day. That would be unacceptable.

“You’ve all heard of the legends of Salazar Slytherin’s Chamber of Secrets, correct?” They nodded, and he continued. “I of course looked into them as soon as I had a suspicion about my ancestry. However, most sources dismiss it as a myth, and as there has been no concrete evidence since the time of the Founders, I was inclined to agree. _However_ , in translating this book, I found a couple of entries that actually confirm its existence.” His audience gasped. “And now that I know it’s real, I am going to make discovering just what secrets it holds a priority. We’re going to find it and open it,” he continued triumphantly. “I think it’s time that the whole school knew without a doubt who I am.”  

The Knights all stared at him, awestruck by his pronouncement.

“Is it true that its purpose is to rid the school of Mudbloods?” Abraxas asked slowly. For the first time since their strange encounter with Hermione Temple on the Hogwarts Express, the Malfoy heir had lost his distant, rigid look.

Tom smirked evilly. “From what I gather, yes.”

Abraxas’ eyes glinted with a strange sheen. “Excellent.” He whispered.

“Erm… Rid them how, exactly, My Lord?” Orion asked, suddenly looking nervous. “Not… Not killing them?”

Nott frowned at Orion. “Why would I do something like that? I’d get arrested for sure!”

Tom wanted to bang his head into the table at that particular follower’s stupidity. He was almost as bad as Avery. But, his stupidity had had its uses, as he’d been the only one easily swayed by Tom’s claims to his heritage, before Tom had had proof… Either way, Tom chose to ignore it, instead settling for answering Orion’s question.

“No, not killing them, exactly,” he said. “I daresay that the magic of the Chamber _could_ do that, but it would be too risky. It would be hard to avoid detection while we carried out our plan, and I personally don’t fancy spending my life in Azkaban. I’m sure it’s the same for all of you.” They nodded.

“But then what’s the point? Why use the Chamber if we won’t be killing them?” Abraxas asked. Tom thought he looked perhaps a little disappointed.

“Just because we won’t kill them doesn’t mean that we can’t _scare_ them. We’ll terrify them so badly that they’ll leave Hogwarts and the wizarding world and never come back! Then _we_ won’t have to put up with their filth! I’m sure that you’ll all agree that that’s a desirable outcome.”

All but Abraxas nodded at the sensibility of Tom’s plan.  

“We’ll be the heroes of the wizarding world!” Nott said, grinning.

“Really, scaring them away seems to be a mercy,” Orion said thoughtfully. “Since they can never hope to be equal members of society.”

Lestrange smirked. “Mudbloods are so pathetic that frightening them should be _easy_ . We probably don’t even _need_ the Chamber to pull it off!”

Tom gave him a piercing look. “While it’s true that Mudbloods are pathetic and easily take fright, it is also true that that useless fool Dumbledore supports them. As long as it seems like he can protect them from us, those stubborn fools will cling to their delusion, and won’t go away. _However_ , the Chamber of Secrets holds an ancient power that far surpasses that of even Dumbledore, and he won’t be able to adequately shield them. Once they realize this, they’ll run back to Muggle society with their tails between their legs.”

That finally seemed to satisfy them. Tom’s Knights exclaimed on the brilliance of his plan. After being suitably praised, Tom began explaining to them how they were to go about locating the Chamber.

“We’ll start in the dungeons, I think. Slytherin put his Common Room down here, after all, so he was clearly fond of it. And anyway, if something’s buried, it makes sense that the entrance would be at the lowest point in the castle.” He waved his wand and four identical pieces of parchment appeared in front of the Knights. “That’s a list of rooms in the dungeons. I expect that you will each find time at least twice a week to thoroughly inspect one of them. After you’re done, make a mark on the parchment so everyone will know where you looked. They’re connected by the Protean charm, so what’s written on one will show up on the others. Write your initials so I’ll know who did what. If you find anything of interest, mark that down too, and I’ll come inspect it myself.”

“What should we be looking for?” Nott asked curiously as the boys inspected their lists.

“In his journal, Slytherin said that he’d marked the entrance to the Chamber with his own sign. I can only assume it’s some sort of snake.”

“There are snakes all over the Common Room!” Nott exclaimed, his eyes flashing in excitement at what he was convinced was an ingenious discovery. “Maybe it’s there!”

Tom scoffed. “I _highly_ doubt that the great Salazar Slytherin would have been foolish enough to put the entrance to his secret Chamber in his own Common Room! It’s much too obvious! He wanted to keep it from the other Founders, and that’s the first place anyone would look.” He chose not to mention the fact that he’d already tried that theory. He always liked to remind Nott of his stupidity, after all.  

The other boy looked down abashedly. “Of course, My Lord.”

“It’s late,” Tom decided, pushing back his chair and standing up. “We’re done for now.” He would torture Rosier next time. Cygnus too, for being absent.

The others understood the dismissal and stood as well, gathering their things. As they were leaving, Tom handed two more copies of the parchment to Abraxas. “Give these to Cygnus and Rosier when you see them next, and explain what we’re doing. Don’t let Avery find out though.” Malfoy nodded. His eyes still held their excited gleam, and Tom was relieved to see that he had fully recovered from whatever strange mood he’d been in. Moody followers were tiresome.

“Of course, My Lord…” He looked hesitant, and Tom suspected that there was something else he wanted to say.

“Spit it out.”

“Perhaps, My Lord, if it’s not too much trouble…” Abraxas licked his lips. “Once we find the Chamber and you harness its power, the first Mudblood that we get rid of… Could it be Myrtle Warren?”

Tom smirked. He did enjoy petty vengeance, and Malfoy was clearly thinking along those lines. The Mudblood had gained the sympathies of Hermione Temple and started to sway her away from Tom, after all. And that spineless, sniveling Ravenclaw was a prime example of the worst that could come of letting Mudbloods into Hogwarts. It would be most fitting if she were the first one to pay for the sins of her kind.  “Consider it done.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope everyone's 2017 is off to a good start! If you've started school or work again, I'm sorry. If you're still on break like me, I hope it's more productive than mine has been (I'm super lazy, it's a problem).  
> This update might be a bit confusing, because I've added a chapter, but removed the Prologue, so there's the same number of chapters that there was before. I might make part of the prologue a flashback and put it in later, but it sort of sucked as an opening scene, so it's gone for now. 
> 
> Until next week!


	8. An Eventful Morning

 

_Hermione was sitting in the Gryffindor common room with her friends, the fire roaring in the hearth. Harry, Ron, and Ginny were trading chocolate frog cards. Hermione sat and listened to them barter and argue, softly stroking a sleeping Crookshanks on her lap. She leaned back in her chair. “I want to stay here forever.”_

_Harry looked up from his newest Chocolate Frog card, Electra Temple. “But you can't stay.”_

_Hermione frowned at him. “Why not?”_

_Ginny shrugged. “It's lost now. Ron, I’ll trade you two Dumbledores for a Voldemort.”_

_Ron scoffed. “No way! I had to give up Morgana for him! Maybe Harry’ll give you his Voldemort. He’s got more than enough to spare.” Ron looked back at Hermione. “_ You _should be going now, though. You don’t belong here, not anymore.”_

_Hermione stood up, pushing Crookshanks off her lap, which he protested with an angry meowl. “But that's not fair! This is my home!”_

_“Life's not fair.” Electra’s voice came from behind Hermione. Hermione turned. They were in the Norwegian cottage again. The other witch raised her wand. “Get ready, dear, this next one’s going to hurt.”_

_Hermione pulled out her wand and tried to cast a Shield charm. But instead of a spell bursting forth from the tip, a strip of paper appeared. She took it and read, “_ Wand Out of Service. Try Again Later. _” She looked up at Electra. “Wait a minute, I’m not ready!”_

_A bright green light burst forth from Electra’s wand. It struck Hermione in the chest and sent her falling backwards, falling down, endlessly falling._

_Tom Riddle leaned over her smirked. “Can’t even do enough magic to defend herself from simple curses! Mudbloods really shouldn’t be allowed at Hogwarts, should they?”_

_Electra leaned over her as well. “Sorry, dear, I thought you were ready.”_

_Harry’s face appeared. “You let me down, Hermione. Now my parents are going to die all over again, and it’s your fault.”_

_Ron’s poked his head into view. “Hey, you know Electra Temple? She’s on a Chocolate Frog card!”_

_Harry looked at Tom. “She’s useless. Why don’t we leave her here and go for Butterbeer, Mate?”_

_Tom Riddle shrugged. “Sounds good to me.”_

_Everyone stepped away from her, walking out the door and leaving her alone on the floor. “Wait! Come back! Someone, anyone, please!”_

”...Come back…”

“Who come back?”

Hermione opened her eyes and squinting against the light, she saw a vaguely familiar blonde girl peering down at her, her head surrounded by green… Lots of green…

Hermione groaned. She was in her new four poster bed in the Slytherin Girl’s dormitory. The girl who’d woken her up was Lucretia Black, whom she’d met the night before at the feast… She was in the year 1942 and about to start the first day of her fifth year at Hogwarts alongside Lord Voldemort. Real life was almost as surreal as the dream she had just had. Hermione squeezed her eyes shut and pulled the thick blankets over her head. She should probably just go back to sleep.

“You were dreaming, weren’t you?” Lucretia said calmly, pulling the blankets away from her and letting in the frigid morning air. It was probably even colder because they were down in the dungeons. “Well, you’ve got to wake up now. Breakfast is half over; you wouldn’t want to be late for your first day!”

Finally, Hermione accepted her reality and forced herself to sit up and slide her feet off the bed. “Morning, Lucretia. Thanks for waking me,” She said, stifling a yawn.

“Good morning to you as well, Hermione. But it would be even better if you would hurry and get dressed; we’re running late!”

“Ok, ok…” Hermione stood up and ambled over to where her trunk sat at the foot of her bed. She opened it and removed her new uniform. It was fairly similar to the Hogwarts uniforms of her day, except the skirt was longer (and compulsory for female students) and she had to wear stockings. She cringed a bit when she saw the Slytherin Crest adorning her blazer. Quickly ducking into the elegant bathroom she now shared with the three other fifth year girls, she washed her face and brushed her riotous locks until they were slightly less messy.  She briefly contemplated applying make-up, as she’d seen many of the other girls in this era heavily done-up, but decided it wasn’t worth the hassle; it wasn’t as if there was anyone she wanted to impress with her looks. After hurrying to get dressed, she heaved a heavy sigh and added her new green and silver tie to the ensemble. She looked at her reflection in the mirror, a bit horrified at the picture she presented. It was just so… _Green_.  

“Traitor,” she whispered glumly, before forcing a bright smile and going back out to where Lucretia was waiting for her. She was looking quite stunning, with her uniform perfectly pressed, her Prefect’s badge shining, and not one blonde hair out of place.

“All ready!” Hermione said, forcing a cheerful tone and scooping her bag up from her bed.

“Excellent, come on!”

Lucretia led them out of the dorms and through the empty common room, and then out into the halls. Hermione remembered to fall back a step so that it was like Lucretia was leading the way to the Great Hall, as Hermione shouldn’t know how to get there quite yet.

They reached the Hall where most of the school was already having breakfast. As she passed the Gryffindor table and caught sight of Fleance and Septimus laughing raucously, Hermione felt a painful twinge, not so much for them in particular, but for breakfast at the Gryffindor table with a certain redhead and a certain bespectacled, dark haired boy…

But now she was sitting with the snakes. Alphard Black was seated at the end of the table closest to the Staff table, across from Des and Avery. Lucretia started to head towards them, and Hermione willingly followed. She couldn’t help but stiffen when they passed by the center of the table where Riddle’s crew was seated. It took all of her willpower not to turn and check when she became convinced that Tom Riddle’s eyes were following her…

“Ah! If it isn’t the prettiest Slytherin fifth years, come to grace us with their charms at the breakfast table!” Alphard said when the two girls sat down beside him. He glanced at Hermione. “I trust you slept well?”

“As well as can be expected in a new environment,” Hermione said as she started to dish up her breakfast. She hadn’t had nightmares of the war again, which she counted as a good thing, even if her dream had been terrifying in its own way…

“Good, good. Slughorn should be around in a minute to distribute our schedules. I’d be happy to look at yours and give you my advice.”

“That’d be great, Alphard, thank you,” Hermione replied before taking a bite of her eggs.

“Hermione!” A lilting voice cut across the Great Hall. Hermione flinched. She swallowed the food in her mouth and then turned around, forcing another bright smile. Electra was approaching her seat, drawing many curious glances from nearby students.

“Good morning, Electra,” Hermione said, trying to sound pleased to see her “cousin”. Sure, she’d accepted their situation by now, but that didn’t mean Electra was suddenly on the list of people she wanted to chat with over breakfast.

Electra stood over her and grinned. Today, her dark curls were pulled back into a tight bun and she was dressed in professional forest green robes. She looked like a teacher… A fairly young teacher, but a teacher nonetheless. “I hope your first day is going well!” She gushed, placing a hand on Hermione’s cheek. Normally, Hermione might have tried to duck away from such contact, but they were in a public place, and currently being observed by a number of students, so she just had to grit her teeth and bear it.

“It is, cousin,” Hermione replied. “And I hope you’re settling in as well?”

Electra beamed, and thankfully withdrawing her hand. “Yes, the other staff have been most welcoming! And am I wrong, or have you made some new friends already?”

Hermione glanced at the Slytherins sitting around her. “This is Alphard Black, the Head boy, Desirée Zabini and Lucretia Black, who are Prefects, and Byron Avery, who is their friend.”

“A pleasure to meet you all!” Electra exclaimed, shaking each of their hands.

“The pleasure is ours, Professor Temple!” Des said, staring up at the witch with admiration clearly shining on her features. “I must say, it’s quite an honor to have you teaching us!”

“Why thank you, Miss Zabini, was it? And I must say what an honor it is to be teaching you! I’m certain that I will learn just as much from you all as you will learn from me!” Hermione stopped herself from rolling her eyes at the cheesy line. It was what every teacher said about their students, ever.  

“Was there something you needed, cousin?” Hermione asked, trying to keep her voice pleasant, but also wanting Electra to go away. They were starting to attract a lot of attention.

“Yes, in fact. I would like to have tea with you later to discuss your first day. Would you come by my office after classes?”

“Sure,” Hermione agreed, seeing no reason that she could refuse. Electra spouted off the directions to her office.

“Be there by four thirty, ok? Good luck with your first day of class!”

“Good luck with your first day of teaching,” Hermione replied, thinking it would be polite. Electra beamed and then strode away, leaving the Great Hall.

Avery let out a low whistle under his breath. “Wow… Your cousin is spectacular!”

Hermione looked at her new Slytherin friends. Des and Alphard looked star-struck. Avery was nearly drooling. Only Lucretia seemed unaffected, and was currently engaged in adding copious amounts of sugar to her tea. Hermione felt a surge of newfound fondness for the blonde.

“Yes, she’s something, alright,” Hermione said, trying not to make her voice obviously disdainful.

“I really can’t wait for Defense!” Alphard exclaimed.

“Oh? Why’s that, Alphard, sweetie?”

All of them turned around to look at the tall, dark haired girl standing behind them. She had a rather severe countenance, with dark brows and a sharp nose. She wore a Gryffindor tie, and had the Head Girl Badge pinned to her chest.

“Minerva! Good Morning!” Alphard stood up and pulled her into an embrace. She hesitated for a second before returning it.

They pulled apart after a moment, and Hermione noticed that McGonagall was grinning and blushing a little bit. That was not an expression she’d often seen on her old Transfiguration professor, that was for sure. “So what’s got you all excited for Defense, then?” she asked, poking Alphard in the ribs. “Pretty new teacher?”

“That has nothing to do with it, sweet,” Alphard said reassuringly. “I am merely enthusiastic about learning from someone so… experienced!”

Avery took a large gulp of pumpkin juice and then laughed loudly. “Oh come on! She’s a lot easier on the eyes than old Merrythought, that’s for sure! Even you’ve gotta admit that, Min!”

“Don’t call me ‘Min’,” Minerva said crossly, frowning at Byron. “And I _had_ noticed that Professor Temple is quite stunning. I would not, however, appreciate it if my boyfriend made a habit of discussing that fact!”

Des cleared her throat and then gestured at Hermione, who had been following the conversation with a silent intent. “Minerva, this is Hermione Temple.”

Hermione smiled tentatively. Even though she was a good fifty years younger than Hermione was familiar with, McGonagall was still quite the intimidating persona. She found herself wanting to make a good first impression. “Hello.”

“Oh!” Minerva looked at Hermione and blinked as if she’d just noticed her. “Forgive me, I’ve been rude!” She held out her hand and Hermione shook it. “I’m Minerva McGonagall, Head Girl.” She glanced at Alphard, who was sliding back into his seat. “Currently dating this one, although we’ll see how long that lasts.”  

Alphard rolled his eyes as he loaded up a forkful of eggs. “She jests. We’re actually very much in love.”

Minerva flicked the back of his head. “Quiet, you.” She looked back at Hermione and smiled. “Anyway, I’m sorry we didn’t get a chance to meet last night, there ended up being a problem in the Gryffindor Common Room that I had to solve. Head Girl duties, and all.”

“That’s quite alright,” Hermione reassured her. “Alphard and Des were most helpful.”

Minerva nodded. “Good, I’m glad.”

“Minerva, sweet, are you going to join us for breakfast?” Alphard asked, winking up at her.

Minerva snorted and tossed her head, letting her long dark locks flick over her shoulder. “No, thank you, I’d rather not get bitten by any poisonous vipers this early on in the term. But if you would so like to breakfast with me, you’re _more_ than welcome to come join me at the Gryffindor table!”

Alphard smirked. “Sorry, sweet, but I’d rather not be chewed on by your lion cubs.”

Minerva laughed. “Well, then, alas, I suppose I must head back to my end of the hall, while you stay on yours!”

“Yes. That distance would be most depressing if we didn’t share a common room now. I wouldn’t mind getting chewed on a bit in _there_.” Alphard waggled his eyebrows suggestively. “And maybe you’d let me bite you?”

Minerva scoffed. “You’re bad. See you later, sweetie.” She leaned down and kissed him once on the forehead before waving goodbye to the rest of the group and sauntering away.  

“Their flirting has always been like this, in case you were wondering,” Des mumbled to Hermione, rolling her eyes. “They think the idea of inter-house rivalry breeding star-crossed lovers is romantic. The rest of us couldn’t care less.”

Hermione hummed in response. Des, Avery, and Lucretia might not care, but Hermione had noticed quite a few nasty glares from the other Slytherins when Minerva was over there. Somehow she doubted that they were all that enthusiastic about their Head Boy being involved with a Gryffindor… Although she also doubted that Alphard cared at all what his housemates thought, aside from his little group of friends perhaps.

“Miss Temple!” Another familiar voice boomed out. Hermione turned and saw that this time, Professor Slughorn was standing beside them. “I’m Horace Slughorn, the Potions Master at Hogwarts and Head of Slytherin House!”

Hermione shook his hand and smiled politely. “How do you do, Professor? It’s quite an honor to have been sorted into your house!”

“Oh, I daresay it is, my dear girl, I daresay it is! We’re quite pleased to have you, no doubt! I see you’ve already met Mr. Black, our Head Boy! And Miss Zabini and Miss Black as well! Good, quite good!” He was clearly just as talkative as he was—would be?—during Hermione’s sixth year.

“Yes, they’ve been quite welcoming.”

“Good, very good! Now! I’m distributing class schedules! Let’s see, for Mr. Black… And for Ms. Black… And here _you_ are, Mr. Avery! Paring back on your course load this term, I see. And Ms. Zabini—oh my, is that ten N.E.W.T.S? Quite impressive, I can’t wait to see you in Potions class! Ah, and last but not least, for you, Miss Temple! Welcome to Hogwarts!”

Slughorn handed Hermione her timetable for the term and she glanced at it as he walked further down the table. It looked to be a promising day: Ancient Runes, Herbology, Charms, and then Transfiguration. She would get to have Dumbledore as a teacher…

“Oh, Hermione, you’ve got Ancient Runes first?” Lucretia was peering over her shoulder.“I’m sorry, but I’m not in that class!” Her voice was apologetic. “I had intended to show you the way to all your classes, but I’ve got to get outside for Care of Magical Creatures. We’ll have to find someone else or you could get lost!”

Slughorn, who was still in earshot, looked up at her words. “Well that’ll never do!” He boomed, his voice carrying across the Great Hall. “Can’t have our new student getting lost on her first day!” The portly man suddenly brightened as he looked down the Slytherin table. “Ah! Tom, m’boy, could you come here for a moment?”

Hermione’s breath caught in her throat. She thought she saw a quick flash of panic or worry on the faces of Des and Avery, but it was gone in an instant. Much too soon, both Tom Riddle and Slughorn were standing beside Hermione. Riddle was looking down at Hermione and the group she was with with a distant politeness on his features. “Good Morning, everyone,” he said pleasantly. “How may I help you, Professor?”

Slughorn put a hand on Hermione’s shoulder. “Tom, this is Miss Hermione Temple, the newest addition to the fifth year class! Have you two met yet?”

A slight smirk tugged at the corners of Riddle’s lips. “Indeed we have!”

“Wonderful! Wonderful!” Slughorn beamed at the both of them. “Now, unfortunately Miss Black is not in the fifth year Ancient Runes class. Seeing as you’re the other fifth year Prefect and you’re heading there anyway, would you do me a favor and escort Miss Temple to her first class today?”

“Why, it would be my pleasure, Professor!” Riddle replied smoothly. He looked down at Hermione, his eyes sparkling with smug light. “I’ve finished my breakfast, Miss Temple, so whenever you are ready, we may go.”

“Excellent! I’ll see you all in Potions!” Slughorn moved away, unaware that he’d just condemned Hermione to spend unnecessary time in the company of a budding Dark Lord who happened to have something to hold against her.

“I can walk Hermione to Ancient Runes, Riddle,” Alphard said, his voice low. “You needn't inconvenience yourself.”

Riddle smile turned into a bit of a sneer as he looked the the Head Boy. “How could it be inconvenient if I’m going there myself?”

“Well, it’ll probably take me a long time to finish my breakfast,” Hermione said, trying not to sound too desperate. “I wouldn’t want to make you late for your first day.”

Riddle’s eyes flickered over to her plate, and then came to rest on her. “You haven’t got half a piece of toast left,” he noted. “You can finish that in a minute. Really, it’s quite unnecessary to make other arrangements. I’m walking you to Runes,” he said firmly.

Hermione looked at Lucretia desperately. “Isn’t Septimus Weasley in Ancient Runes?”

Lucretia nodded. “Yes, I believe he is. Perhaps I should go ask him if _he_ would be willing to—”

“Miss Black, that _really_ won’t be necessary!” Riddle’s voice had gone from polite to irritated. “I am more than willing and able to escort Miss Temple to our Ancient Runes class. I am already right here, there is _no_ need to run around the Hall looking for other escorts!”

Alphard, however, had already risen from his seat and was waving his hands in the direction of the Gryffindor table. “Septimus! Hey, Septimus!”

“ _Salazar_ ,” Riddle hissed under his breath. Suddenly he grabbed Hermione’s arm and yanked her out of her seat. He scooped up her back from the ground and then started pulling her away, ignoring her cries of protest. After they’d gone a few steps, he jerked his arm so that it was held out at his side, and hers was wound around it. If anyone looked on, it would _almost_ look like he was being a gentleman and escorting her on his arm, when he was actually holding her tightly and pulling her along.

“What is your problem!” Hermione exclaimed. They had made it out of the Great Hall and were walking down the corridor towards the Runes classroom. She jerked her arm away from him and glowered. “Give me back my bag!”

Riddle regarded her coolly before handing over her school bag. The burst of emotion he had displayed in the Great Hall appeared to have dissipated, although she suspected that it was still there, hidden under a tightly controlled facade. “I apologize, Miss Temple. My behavior was rude and abrupt. However, it pales in comparison to the childishness displayed by our esteemed Head Boy.” His lips curled in distaste at the mention of Alphard.

“Alphard wasn’t being childish, he was trying to—” She stopped. She was going to say he’d been trying to protect her from Riddle, but that didn’t seem like the sort of thing she should admit to said Dark Wizard’s face. Then she’d have to explain _why_ she thought she needed protection from him…

“He was making one of his inane little power plays, and trying to pull you into it.” Riddle’s voice was cold and clipped. “I don’t know exactly what falsehoods that fool has been feeding you, but I can assure you, they are nothing more than that: false. You would do well to disregard them in favor of forming your own opinions. You don’t _seem_ like the sort of witch to be easily swayed to the views of others, but I suppose I could be wrong.”

Hermione clenched her fists at his words. “I can indeed form my own opinions, thank you very much!” She said hotly. “And why do you think you know what Alphard and I have been talking about? Perhaps you didn’t come up at all! Or perhaps he merely said that you were the charming fifth year Prefect, well mannered and academically talented. Are those the opinions you wish me to reassess?”

Riddle mockingly raised an eyebrow at her. “Miss Temple, you are new, so I will forgive your ignorance. I know for a fact that Alphard Black would sooner end his sickening relationship with his Mudblood Gryffindor than utter one kind word about me. Our relationship has never been very loving, and recently it has only gotten worse. I also can’t imagine that Miss Zabini had very flattering words on the subject of my personage, seeing as she and I were involved for quite a while, and it ended on my terms, rather than hers.”

Hermione scoffed at his description of his break up with Des. Of course he’d put it like that, the prat... He gave her a searching look before continuing, “In addition, I happen to know that Byron Avery has a low opinion of me, merely because I rejected his overtures of friendship when I realized he only wished to use me.”

That made Hermione pause her internal seething rant about this presumptuous git of a Dark Lord as she read behind the lines of his comment. She _had_ wondered about the relationship between Avery and Riddle… She knew that Avery was a Death Eater name, but the way Riddle had phrased it made it sound as if he had rejected Avery from his newly-former cult… Had Avery actually _wanted_ to be a Death Eater, but not measured up to Riddle’s standards somehow? If that were the case, and Avery was only part of Alphard’s group due to a lack of better options, could he really be trusted? But then again, who could say whether or not Riddle was flat out lying to her? He _definitely_ couldn’t be trusted, that was not a mistake she was going to be making any time soon.

Riddle continued on, oblivious to her musings. “I suppose the only decent one of their group is Miss Black. She at least is sensible enough to treat everyone with the respect they deserve. I suggest that in the future, if you wish to learn how to operate successfully in Slytherin House, her example is what you should aim to follow.” He looked at her expectantly.

She sighed, and replied, “Thank you for the advice, Mr. Riddle. I shall certainly consider all you’ve said. I wouldn’t wish to… Restrict my options for the future based on hastily formed opinions.”

Riddle smiled. It did not reach his eyes. “That’s all I ask, Miss Temple. Making snap judgements against the wrong individuals could make this a _very_ tough school year for you.” The threat, while implicit, was clear. Hermione nodded, hoping to convince him that she understood, mostly to get him off her back. He seemed to, as he let them make the rest of the walk in silence. When the reached the Ancient Runes classroom, he held open the door for her and she walked in.

The room was nearly full as there were only a few minutes before the start of class. Since it was an elective, students from all four houses were in attendance. Septimus Weasley was indeed there, but he was already seated next to Orpheus Lovegood. Orpheus offered her a friendly smile, but Septimus seemed to be avoiding her eyes. The tables near theirs were already filled, as were most others in the room. That left a choice between an empty table near the back of the room, or the seat beside Myrtle Warren, who was sitting alone at the table in front of that one. Well aware that there was a clever and manipulative Dark Wizard directly behind her who also needed a seat, she headed straight to Myrtle’s table.

“May I sit here?” She asked politely, although she was already setting her stuff down lest Riddle interfere in some way. Myrtle looked up at her, eyes wide, before nodding.

Riddle walked past the table, eyeing both her and Myrtle with an inscrutable expression before pulling out the chair of the seat directly behind Hermione. “Orion!” She heard him bark, and the dark-haired Slytherin boy who’d been seated at the front of the class immediately stood up and looked back towards Riddle. “Come sit with me,” Riddle said casually, and the other boy immediately collected his things and strode to the back of the room, taking the seat behind Myrtle.

“How have you been, Myrtle?” Hermione asked politely, choosing to ignore the set of cold eyes she felt boring into the back of her skull. “I haven’t seen you since we got off the train.”

“Erm…” Myrtle bit her bottom lip and glanced around the room. “I’ve been good…”

Hermione gave her a warm smile. “That’s good.” Myrtle was twisting a strand of hair around her finger and didn’t seem to be inclined to say anything else, so Hermione tried again. “I’m quite looking forward to classes starting!” she said cheerily.

“As- As am I,” Myrtle said shakily. She frowned at Hermione, looking perplexed.

“Is something the matter?” Hermione asked, keeping her voice upbeat. “I didn’t do anything yesterday to offend you, did I?”

“No, nothing of the sort!” Myrtle replied, her voice squeaking a bit. “I just-I thought-I assumed…”

“What did you assume, Myrtle?” Hermione said patiently, hoping she could get the girl to open up again.

“That-well, you got put into Slytherin, so I thought… I thought you wouldn’t want to talk to me anymore.”

Hermione scoffed loudly, mostly for the benefit of the two boys she knew were silently observing every aspect of her conversation. “You thought that just because some old hat thought I was more cunning than I was brave or smart, that it would suddenly change everything I believe in? Trust me, Myrtle, I’m just the same as I was yesterday.” The girl’s expression had turned hopeful. She looked… starving. Hungry for any sort of positive human attention. Well, Hermione thought fiercely, she could give her that. “I’d very much like to keep talking to you, Myrtle. I daresay we could even come to be friends!”

“Friends?” Myrtle whispered, her voice echoing with disbelief. “You’d like to be my… friend?”

Hermione smiled. “If you’d like.”

Myrtle nodded so enthusiastically Hermione thought her head might fly off. Hermione grinned in satisfaction.

“I think, Miss Temple, that you might have been better suited to Hufflepuff.” Riddle’s cold voice drawled from behind them. “As a rule, Slytherins don’t go around offering their ‘friendship’ to useless Mudbloods who’ve done nothing to prove their worth. Have you already forgotten my advice?”

Hermione had had it with him trying to tell her how to behave. She slowly turned around to meet his piercing stare with her own. “Mr. Riddle. Leaving aside the fact that my choice in friends should be of no interest to you, I’m afraid that I find your judgement of my actions to be irrelevant. There might be certain ways in which you think a Slytherin should behave, but I can assure you, I have no intentions of changing my core values in order to meet your standards, or the standards of anyone else for that matter. I have lived without the restrictions of a House label for my entire life up till now, and I fail to see how the pronouncement of some silly talking headgear should suddenly become my defining character trait! Where I’m from, friendship and usefulness are not synonymous, and the color of my common room will not be enough to shift my worldview.”

Riddle stared back at her. His mouth was open slightly, and she thought that he might be at a loss for words. Next to him, however, Orion Black was simmering with indignation.

“Just who do you think you are!” He exclaimed, glaring at Hermione. “You can’t just waltz in here from the continent and go on to insult our traditions!  I don’t care what you’ve done in the past, you are a Slytherin now, and respectable Slytherins do _not_ befriend Mudbloods!”

Hermione looked at him and scoffed rudely. “Oh, please. Blood-purity _again_ ? While I’m sure that that seems like the most important issue for someone who has spent his whole life being hand fed bigotry off of a silver spoon, I can assure you that if you ever work up the courage to leave the comfort of your ivory tower and have some real world experience, then you will quickly realize that a person’s blood status has absolutely _nothing_ to do with who they are or what they can do!”

Orion glared at her. “You need to shut your mouth, you little blood-traitor!” He snarled menacingly. “You do _not_ belong in Slytherin, and when I—”

“Hush, Orion,” Riddle said abruptly, and the boy fell silent, giving Riddle a questioning look. Riddle ignored him, instead studying Hermione with a focused intensity that she found to be increasingly uncomfortable. The heat of her anger that had sustained her tirades seemed to be fleeing under his icy gaze, leaving her deflated and… worried. She had just said a lot of things that she shouldn’t have, revealed too much of herself. She wasn’t sure how she would be able to undo the damage, if at all…

She was saved from any more conversation by the arrival of Professor Finley. He was a tall, middle aged man, and he spoke in a very straightforward and professional manner. He quickly reviewed the syllabus for the term, and then handed out a practice exam to evaluate their current preparedness for the O.W.L.s. Hermione, who had already had a year of N.E.W.T. level Ancient Runes, found it to be quite simple. Although it was painful, she forced herself to intentionally make enough mistakes to lower the grade down to an ‘E’ rather than the ‘O’ she could have so easily achieved. Electra had made it clear that it would best serve their mission if Hermione shared classes with Riddle, and she didn’t want to give them cause to move her ahead.

The Professor collected their tests at the end of class and then dismissed them. The Slytherins and Ravenclaws had Herbology together, and so she ended up walking to the Greenhouses sandwiched between Myrtle, who was letting her joy at having a new friend lead her to giddy babbling, and Orpheus, who kept making off-handed remarks about Wrakspurts. By the time they entered their Herbology classroom, Hermione was a bit relieved to be waved away from the pair by Lucretia Black.

“How was Ancient Runes?” Lucretia asked politely as Hermione set her bag down under their table.

“It was… Good,” Hermione replied lamely. The class had been a repeat of what she’d already done and she was still a bit unsettled by the conversation she’d had beforehand, so ‘good’ wasn’t actually the word she would use to describe it, but there was no need to go into all that with someone who’d acquaintance she’d made the night before.  

“Really? And is there some reason you can think of that my brother is currently glaring daggers at us?” Her tone was light, but when Hermione caught her expression she could see a warning flash in the blonde’s eyes.

Hermione frowned at her. “Brother?” Oh! Black, of course! “Orion is your brother?” She glanced around the room and, sure enough, at the other end of the table, Orion Black was giving her a look so sour it could curdle milk. Riddle was his partner in Herbology as well, she noted.

Lucretia nodded. “Twins. And I wouldn’t say we’re all that close, but I’ve made a point not to upset him or our older brother Cygnus ever since they started hanging around Riddle. It seems, however, that you have managed to incur his ire. What happened?”  

Hermione bit her lip. What if Lucretia felt the same way about muggle-borns that Orion did? No, that couldn’t be, she decided. She was perfectly fine with her cousin Alphard dating one. “I was talking to Myrtle Warren, and said how we could be friends,” Hermione said tentatively. “Riddle and your brother didn’t think much of that, and when they expressed their opinions, I may have ended up ranting at your brother about how blood purity is nonsense.”

Lucretia raised an eyebrow at her. “Is that all?” Hermione nodded, and the blonde girl sighed. “Alright. Well, today we’re planting Snaggle-pods. Could you hand me the seed packet?”

Hermione blinked at her. “What, that’s it?”

Lucretia shrugged. “That’s it, for now. But after dinner we should have a conversation with Alphard. He’ll have better advice for you than I do.”

“Um… Ok?” That seemed to be all Lucretia would say on that particular subject, so trying to control the apprehension slowly building within her, Hermione did her best to follow along with Professor Veriday’s instructions for planting their Snaggle-pod seeds. Since the seeds had the unfortunate tendency to explode when exposed to direct sunlight, it actually required significant attention on her part. Every ten minutes or so, someone would make a mistake, and a loud popping would fill the greenhouse. Whenever this happened, a particularly annoying cluster of girls would squeal loudly. The group included Noelle Bulstrode and Druella Rosier, the other two Slytherin fifth year girls. Hermione saw Lucretia rolling her eyes at their behavior.

Finally, the lesson came to a close. They all started cleaning up and transporting their pots of carefully-planted seeds to the back table where they would be stored. Hermione took her time with the clean up, so she was one of the last ones finished. As she was carrying her pot, a foot shot out and snagged her ankle, causing her to fall forwards. Her pot of Snaggle-pod seeds flew out of her hands and through the air in an arc, shattering when it hit the ground. The packed dirt spilled out, exposing the newly planted seeds to the bright light of the noontime sun. Hermione quickly covered her face with her arms to protect it from the bursts of heat and force of the exploding seeds. For a minute, it sounded as if someone had set off a pack of Muggle firecrackers in the greenhouse, and her arms were pelted with what felt like a barrage of small hot rocks. Finally, it died down, and Hermione cautiously lowered her stinging arms.

“That was pretty clumsy of you, Miss Temple,” Riddle’s smooth voice came from behind her. She scowled and looked at him over her shoulder. He was standing a good ten feet away, smirking. He was too far, he hadn’t been the one to trip her… She glanced to her left and saw that she’d walked past the seat of Emmet Lestrange, who was looking down at her smugly. He was lazily leaning back on the table and his legs were crossed, one of them sticking out obviously into the aisle. She narrowed her eyes dangerously.

She was about to make a scathing remark about how clumsiness was certainly more of an issue when entitled louts shoved their way into places they shouldn’t when she caught sight of Lucretia standing over Riddle’s shoulder, shaking her head warningly.   

Hermione swallowed down her ire and gritted her teeth. “That it was, Mr. Riddle. I guess I’ll have to be more careful in the future.”

“See that you do.” Riddle turned and swept away. Lestrange smirked at her once more before getting up and following after him, leaving Hermione and Lucretia alone in the greenhouse. Lucretia walked over to where Hermione had fallen, offered a hand, and helped her up.

The blonde girl regarded her for a moment, and then sighed. “I suppose you can share my pot when we’re ready to harvest the Snaggle-pods.” she offered as she waved her wand to clean up the mess.

“Thank you,” Hermione replied, simmering as she thought of how her entire class’ worth of work had just been wasted. That part hurt worse than the smarting of her arms.

“We _did_ warn you about them.”

Hermione clenched her fists. _She_ of all people shouldn’t have even needed a warning! “I know.”

Lucretia started walking towards the door and Hermione made to follow, when the sleeve of her robes brushed against the fresh welts on her arm. A sharp hiss of pain escaped her lips. Lucretia looked back, her brow furrowed.

“The seeds got you, didn’t they?”

Hermione nodded. The blonde Prefect came back over to her and took one of Hermione’s arms in her hand, pushing back the sleeve. She pursed her lips at the sight of the bright red spots peppering her skin and then pulled out her wand, waving it over the wounds. “ _Delinio,_ ” she muttered, casting a spell used to soothe minor burns. 

The welts vanished, as did the pain. Hermione smiled a bit. She would have done the spell herself if Lucretia hadn’t, of course, but it was nice having another person make a caring gesture.

Once she’d healed the other arm, Hermione pulled her sleeves down and muttered a thanks. Lucretia looked at Hermione and raised an eyebrow, a look of pity dancing in her eyes. “Well, you’ve certainly had an… interesting first day at Hogwarts. And it’s not even lunchtime.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay, another chapter posted! Hope you enjoyed it!
> 
> Unfortunately, I think I have to reduce the frequency of updates to every other week, at least for now. I'm quickly running out of my stockpiled chapters, and seem to have developed a bit of writer's block on a vital scene that takes place in a few chapters. Hopefully I'm able to work through it quickly get back on track before my semester starts, but we'll see. 
> 
> Anyway, thanks for reading!


	9. Plots and Plans

Tom was at a loss. He’s spent the whole day’s lessons observing Hermione Temple and he still wasn’t sure what to make of her. One part of him said that her little display in Ancient Rune should have been enough to get her permanently written off as his enemy, as she was so hostile to his cause. But then again, another part of him argued, blood purity wasn’t really  _ his  _ cause,  _ per se _ . It was a convenient banner under which to gather the right sort of followers, nothing more. He himself was a half-blood, and he was certain that he was the most powerful wizard to walk the halls of Hogwarts since Salazar Slytherin himself. And pureblood washouts like Nott and Avery were proof enough that a pristine wizarding ancestry did little to guarantee intelligence or power. It stood to reason that there could be some talented Mudbloods, just as there could be worthless purebloods. And if he understood this, although he couldn’t voice it or risk losing his followers, then why should he fault Hermione Temple for understanding the same thing?

She  _ was  _ a terrible Slytherin, however. It was as if the concept of subtlety was completely foreign to her. She’d taken all of his well-intended advice and shoved it back in his face, going off on Orion Black about blood purity like some sort of rabid beast. She certainly deserved whatever punishment his offended Knights decided to dish out. He had a feeling that Emmett’s prank in Herbology would only be the beginning. 

Then there was the issue of her disrespectfulness. He would certainly not excuse that. But he knew from experience that the respect of other Slytherins had to be earned—and he had to assume that on some level she  _ was _ a Slytherin; he was sure that the Sorting Hat would have had  _ some  _ reason to put her in his house—so he was prepared to earn it from her. It wouldn’t even take as long as it had with the others. Since he already held the respect of the entire house, he was sure she’d quickly see their example and behave accordingly. 

All in all, her stubborn defiance of pure-bloods, of Slytherin traditions, and even of him had the opposite effect that they should. Rather than put him off of her, he found himself rather attracted to the idea of reining her passions in and turning them to his own uses. What little he’d seen of her classwork hinted at an intelligence and power similar to his own, not to mention her connection to fame and power in the form of her cousin. With the correct manipulations, she could eventually be turned into a powerful weapon that he could exploit.  _ If  _ she didn’t piss off his other followers enough to get herself killed first.

“The nerve of that wench!” Rosier fumed. It was after classes and Orion was recounting Hermione’s speech to the rest of the Knights in the Slytherin common room, emptied of younger students with one word from Tom. This was the second time he’d told the story. Tom, who’d actually  _ been  _ there, was growing weary of the tale. While it had certainly been a spectacle, Orion was starting to blow it completely out of proportion.  

“I can’t believe she’s such a blood-traitor!” Abraxas was taking the news rather poorly, likely due to his pathetic little crush, or whatever that had been. His eyes were wide open and his knuckles clenched tightly. This was the first time he’d heard the story, as he’d missed Orion’s dramatization at lunch. 

“Well, actually…” Emmett looked up from the mirror that he’d been inspecting his reflection in; idiot was always fussing with his hair. He’d heard the story three times, as Orion had hastily whispered it to him before Herbology, so he was now no longer overcome with shock. “I’ve been thinking about it. What if she’s  _ not  _ a blood-traitor?”

Abraxas glowered. “How could she not be? With the things that she says—”

Emmett held up his hand, stopping the blond. “No, no, it’s vile of course, but what if she’s not betraying her blood… Because she’s  _ one of them _ ?” 

All of the Knights gasped at this. Even Tom raised an incredulous eyebrow. “A Mudblood in Slytherin?” Nott hissed, curling his lips at the thought. 

“I don’t know… There  _ can  _ be Slytherin blood traitors, look at Alphard,” Orion said hesitantly. “But a straight-up Mudblood? Surely the Sorting Hat wouldn’t go  _ that  _ far!” 

“It  _ would _ explain why she was so disappointed to be put here, though,” Cygnus said. 

“What was that?” Tom asked casually. Instantly all of the other boys fell silent and looked at him. He didn’t make a habit of interrupting their discussions outside of meetings, and so when he did, they knew it was important. 

Cygnus shifted uncomfortably in his seat and then explained, “It’s just that she was saying she thought she belonged in Ravenclaw. She was surprised at the Sorting Hat’s decision.”

Tom furrowed his brow. That was an interesting bit of information. It would certainly explain her lack of proper Slytherin decorum. “How do you know this?”

It was Rosier who answered. “Avery. He was going on about a lot of things last night, trying to get us interested in him again.”

“And he brought up Miss Temple?” Tom mused. “How… Convenient. Tell me, what else did he say?”

“Not too much,” Cygnus said. His lips were pursed as he recalled his conversation from the previous night. “Said something about how she’s really interesting and funny and how we should meet her. That she wasn’t your typical Slytherin, and she thought she should be in Ravenclaw.”

“And he went on and on about her ‘terribly clever’ quip about how boring it would be to rule the world, or whatnot,” Rosier finished, rolling his eyes. “Honestly, Avery needs to figure out that we don’t have time for his nonsense anymore!”

Tom smirked as the first steps of a plan began to fall into place. “Actually, I think you’ll find you do.”

Cygnus and Rosier looked at him and blinked, perplexed. “My Lord?”

Tom proceeded to explain, going extra slow to make sure they followed his reasoning: “It appears that Miss Temple has befriended Avery, Salazar knows why. Her other new friends are of absolutely no use to us; Alphard or Desirée are too wary of us to let any information slip, and Lucretia is far too clever to be used in such a way.” Cygnus and Orion both smiled slightly at the praise of their sister. Tom continued, “Avery, however, is desperate enough for our attention that he won’t even think before revealing Miss Temple’s secrets. Oh, probably not the big ones. But little things—stories of her past, her habits. They’ll seem insignificant to him, and most of them will be, but eventually he’ll give us something that we can  _ use _ .”

“Use how?” Nott asked eagerly.

Tom let a slow, evil grin spread across his face. “Leave that to me.”

The other boys smirked and laughed and mumbled about how the “blood-traitor’s gunna get what she deserves.” Tom was pleased; he had intended to let them think that  _ that  _ was why he wanted information about the girl. In addition to not having to explain why he thought Hermione Temple could be of use to him, which he didn’t think the Knights would like very much, as it was more about his goals than theirs, the idea that Tom himself had some sort of revenge scheme in the works might keep them from going too far with their own petty pranks, thereby keeping her in one piece long enough to prove useful to Tom. 

Tom continued with his orders: “In the meantime, Cygnus and Rosier, you need to pay attention to anything that Avery says that relates to the girl. Whatever it is, no matter how paltry, you report it to me. Understood?”

The two boys nodded. “Does this mean we have to start spending time with Avery again?” Rosier asked. Tom couldn’t tell if the idea disgusted him or pleased him. Well, that didn’t matter. Either way, he’d do it, since Tom would tell him to. 

“Yes, but don’t be too obvious or sudden with it,” Tom instructed. “Otherwise he’ll get suspicious enough to tell Alphard. And  _ he  _ will certainly be able to figure out what we’re doing.” Tom pursed his lips as he thought through the plan. “In fact, I rather think you should behave as if you’re going behind my back to do this…Yes, Alphard will have told him all about how I’m an evil mastermind and you all are being forced to do my bidding,” Tom rolled his eyes, and the other boys chuckled at the seeming absurdity of this statement. Tom allowed a small smile at this. His total control over them was revealed when he could state the ugly truth so plainly and have them deny it—how beautiful! “If you act as though you’re… tired of me, but too afraid to sever ties, that should be good enough to gain Avery’s confidence while still having a reason to associate with me. Do you understand?” 

The two sixth year boys nodded, accepting their mission. His goal accomplished, Tom leaned back in his chair, signaling that his involvement in this particular conversation was over. It once again devolved into an angry rant about Hermione Temple, and then blood-traitors, and then Mudbloods in general. It was the same tiring thing he had heard dozens of times already. Deciding that he was in the mood to do something else, he stood up. His followers gave him questioning looks, and he indicated that they should stay there.    

Once he exited the Common Room, he decided to do some more searching for Slytherin’s sign. He’d only given his instructions for the Knights to start searching for the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets last night, so they’d had little chance to make any progress. All except for Nott, whose zealously servile manners had incited him to rise impressively early that morning and search two whole rooms before breakfast. If the others didn’t get moving on it soon, he would have to  _ remind  _ them where their priorities should lie. For now, though, he would do some of the work himself. Locating the Chamber of Secrets was, after all, the most important thing he had to do that year, and nothing was going to stop him. 

—0—

Hermione’s afternoon had thankfully been less eventful than her morning. In both Charms and Transfigurations, Lucretia had claimed her as a seating partner. The Slytherin Prefect had been able to keep up a constant stream of conversation between classes and prevented Hermione from interacting with Riddle and his crew any further. The classes themselves were tolerable. Professor Trill was a bit of a scatterbrain, and ended up getting sidetracked from his discussion of their O.W.L. review schedule to discuss his thoughts on current events. Dumbledore had been an amazing teacher, as she'd expected, but she found herself having a hard time staring into the face of her old Headmaster and not having flashbacks to her past, so by the time the bell rang, she was relieved it was over.

After class, Lucretia had gone off to perform some Prefect duties, and Hermione had reluctantly made her way through the corridors towards Electra’s office. Hermione was trying to decide whether or not to discuss what had happened that morning in Ancient Runes. On the one hand, it seemed like it might be an important development for their mission. A negative development, but a development nonetheless. On the other hand, Lucretia had given Hermione hope that there might be some way to fix it. Perhaps she would not bring it up today, rather, see what Alphard had to say first…. 

Finally she arrived at Electra’s office. Since Electra was just a temporary staff member, she’d been given one of the seldom-used offices near the dungeons. Hermione closed her eyes and took a deep breath before raising a fist and knocking on the door. There was no answer. After a minute, she tried again. Then she heard a loud bang inside the office and someone shouting colorful profanities. She took this opportunity to knock again even louder. A moment later the door cracked open to reveal a rather disheveled Electra. Her green Professor robes were askew, and her neat bun had come partially undone, spilling a few strands of hair over her shoulders. Her face was covered by dark smudges of what looked like soot. When she saw Hermione, she frowned.  

“Hermione? You’re early.” 

Hermione furrowed her brow. “Hello to you, too,” she said, crossing her arms. “What was that bang?”

“Hmm?” Electra glanced back over her shoulder furtively before looking at Hermione and sighing. “Well I guess it’s not the end of the world if  _ you  _ know,” she said, opening the door the rest of the way. 

Electra still appeared to be in the process of moving into her new office; half of the walls were covered in maps and diagrams while the other parts of still showed the smooth grey stone walls. Trunks of various sizes were strewn about the room, some of them lying open while others appeared to be locked. One of the walls was lined with bookshelves, which were partly full of Defense tomes. The desk was piled high with stacks of paper that were still clearly unorganized. What caught Hermione’s attention, however, was the suspicious mess of ash and soot in front of the fireplace that held smouldering embers inside, and the long dark burn mark marring the rug in front of it. 

“What happened to your fireplace?” Hermione asked as Electra closed the door behind her. 

“Sorry about the mess,” Electra said, ignoring her question. The older witch walked over to the desk and pushed some of the papers aside, clearing a space. “But making my office look pretty hasn’t exactly been at the top of my priority list.” 

She raised a brow at this. “Oh? What  _ is  _ at the top of your priority list?”

Electra waved her hand dismissively. “A few things. Lesson plans, establishing positive relationships with the other professors—making us an escape route,” she added, gesturing towards the fireplace. 

Hermione frowned. “You were messing with the floo?” That  _ would  _ explain the soot. 

Electra nodded. “I’m trying to connect it to my house, but I need to remove all of the castle’s traces and get around its outgoing wards. Otherwise my protective enchantments won’t let us through.”

“And the bang?”

Electra grimaced. “I thought I had it, but when I tested it… I didn’t. I got thrown back by my own wards. I might have been  _ slightly  _ overzealous in casting them; the knockback was a bit extreme.” She winced and rubbed the back of her neck.

Hermione smirked a bit. Electra usually acted so confident and self-assured when it came to magic that it was sort of satisfying to watch her be humbled. “Maybe if you explained the nature of the enchantments, I could help?” She offered. “I find that a second opinion can be helpful sometimes.”

Electra saw her smirk and rolled her eyes. “I’m sure I’ll figure it out soon enough,” she said, shrugging. “But if not, I’ll let you know.” Electra walked over towards the fireplace and picked up her wand from the mantel. She waved it, and the mess of soot vanished. Another wave, and her appearance returned to immaculate professionalism. Then, she turned towards Hermione and smiled. “Now. I believe I promised you some tea?”

Hermione _ was  _ actually curious about how exactly Electra was attempting to outwit the formidable defensive enchantments of Hogwarts, but she settled for asking the other pressing question. “So you’re planning on us needing an escape route?” 

Electra smiled as she summoned a tea kettle and two cups from one of the open trunks and set them on her desk. “It’s more like I’m preparing for every possible outcome,” she replied. “I’d rather not have to worry about getting past the Anti-Apparition wards if we have to flee the castle.” 

Hermione cleared away a stack of boxes on a small chair next to the desk and sat down as Electra filled the kettle with boiling water from her wand. “Why are we fleeing the castle?”

Electra raised one of her dark brows at Hermione. “We’ve blown our cover, of course.” She added the tea to the water and stirred before continuing, “We’ve given Tom Riddle reason to believe that we know too much about him. We’ve significantly decreased the chances of our plan’s success, and so we have to move on to plan C.” 

“What’s plan C?” Hermione frowned. “What’s plan  _ B _ ?”

Electra shook her head, pouring the finished tea into the cups. “I’ll tell you if we get there. Are you in the mood for sugar today?” 

Hermione nodded to answer the question, and then sighed. It was always like this; Electra would mention a small detail of her plan, but whenever Hermione pushed for more, she would be shut out. It was getting beyond ridiculous for the witch to be so secretive. Certainly  _ she  _ deserved to be privy to their contingency plan? It wasn’t as if Hermione had anyone else to tell. 

“What if something happens to you? Shouldn’t I know what to do then?” She tried, accepting the cup of warm brown liquid from Electra and taking a sip. It scalded her tongue, so she set it down to let it cool. 

Instead of sitting on the desk chair, which was also cluttered with papers, Electra perched herself on the empty corner of the desk. She sipped from her own cup for a while, looking down at Hermione thoughtfully. Hermione wondered how she took such a long drink without burning her mouth. Finally, she set her own cup down and surprised Hermione when she nodded slowly. 

“That’s a good point.” 

Hermione raised her eyebrows in disbelief. She hadn’t really expected it to work. “Do you mean that?”

Electra sighed. “Well, I’ve been thinking that I really should start treating you more like my equal in this. It’s sort of crappy of me to leave you in the dark all the time, wouldn’t you say?”

Hermione stared at her, eyes wide. What had brought this on? 

“I can’t tell you everything, of course,” Electra hastened to add. “Some of it’s too dangerous for you to know. Some of it I’m pretty sure you don’t  _ want  _ to know. But if I want you to share what’s going on with you, then I’ve got to share some of what’s going on with me.”

“That’s very true,” Hermione agreed, reaching out to try her tea again. It had cooled down enough for her to sip lightly. “So, plans B and C?”

Electra smiled and began, “Well, I’m clearly the more powerful and experienced one of us—or at least that’s what people will assume, given our supposed age-difference,” she added quickly, seeing Hermione start to scowl. “So if Riddle decides we’re a threat, I imagine he’d try to eliminate me, and keep you around for information.” 

Hermione took another sip of her tea as she reflected on Electra’s words. She begrudgingly admitted that Electra’s assessment of who seemed like the bigger threat was correct. She was merely the younger cousin of this supposedly formidable witch and qualified Professor. The thought of Tom Riddle deciding to keep her around for “information” made her shudder; she of course wouldn’t give anything up willingly, but he’d probably be more than happy to resort to gruesome torture. “I guess that’s true.”

“He won’t be anticipating my knowledge of his true power, however. He’ll have to put a lot of effort into killing me,” Electra continued, saying it as casually as if she were discussing the weather forecast. “So while he’s busy with that, it’ll be the perfect opportunity for you to execute plan C”

“Which  _ is _ ?’

Electra shrugged. “Kill him.”

“I see.” Hermione set her teacup down and crossed her arms, thinking. Murder was an absolutely repugnant idea, but if there should be any exception to her respect for life, it was Voldemort. If they failed to prevent him from turning into an insane, genocidal tyrant, then just killing him before he could destroy the world was the next logical step. But how was  _ she  _ supposed to kill him? “So what, I should just wait until he’s open and then shoot off an  _ Avada Kedavra  _ while he’s distracted by your spectacular duel?”

“Wait for his guard to drop, exactly.” She paused for a moment. “And then flee before you’re arrested and sent to Azkaban. Go back to my house, it’s practically impenetrable.”  

“And what about you?”

Electra looked away and stared out the window for a moment before saying slowly, “Well… I’ll come find you, if I survive. But if I get into a duel to the death with Tom Riddle, I’ll more than likely end up dead.” 

Hermione frowned. “Wouldn’t I have killed him before he could kill you?” She might dislike aspects of Electra’s personality, and still be a bit bitter over the whole kidnapping/time-travel thing, but that didn’t mean she liked the thought of her dying. Plus she rather hated the thought of being left in the forties without the witch who knew how to work the time-travel spells that had brought them there.

“Probably not.” Electra said quietly. “To succeed with the Killing Curse, you would need to wait for him to divert his attention away from his defenses, and that’ll likely be the split second before he delivers a killing blow.” She looked back at Hermione, a bitter grin on her face. “I’ve thought through  _ that _ duel too many times to count. Plan C does not end well for me; there’s a reason it comes last.”  After a second, she added, “Also, there’s the theoretical risk. Who knows what would happen to the time stream if he is eliminated outright?”

Hermione hummed in agreement. During her third year, a curious Hermione had read every book on time travel available in the Hogwarts library, and she remembered enough to know that there could be some major and unpredictable backlash from the time stream at the untimely death of such a powerful wizard. 

“So that’s plan C, then,” she said finally. “What’s plan B?” 

Electra grinned mischievously. “I’m afraid that plan B does not work if you know about it ahead of time.”

Hermione did not like that answer. “What? How does that make any sense?”  

Electra just shook her head and smirked. “The essence of the plan is such that I can’t it explain right now. But, dear, don’t fret. We’re still on plan A.” 

“Plan A is stopping him from making Horcruxes.”

Electra nodded. “Exactly. And as long as things go smoothly, it'll be  _ ages  _ before we have to think about moving on to the contingencies.”

“What's the hurry on the escape route, then?”

Electra shrugged. “I want to know if the floo route will work as soon as possible. If I can't get this to work, I'll have to come up with some sort of portkey, and that'll be even harder to get through my wards. But that’s neither here nor there. I did have something to discuss with you today. I hope you’re not offended, but I’m not  _ actually  _ concerned about how you’re handling the fifth year curriculum.”

Hermione smirked. “Yeah, I think I‘ve got that bit under control.”  

Electra smiled before her expression turned serious. “What does concern me is how you’re handling the whole Tom Riddle situation. Anything to report?” 

Hermione bit her lip. She hadn’t really wanted to tell Electra about how she’d managed to get Tom Riddle angry, multiple times. Not until she’d taken Lucretia’s suggestion and talked to Alphard about what to do; she was hoping that Alphard would have good ideas, while being less severe in judging her mistake. Trying to stall, she reached for her cup to take another drink, but realized it was empty. 

“Is there any more tea?” She asked, looking up at Electra innocently. 

Electra narrowed her eyes as she pointed her wand at the tea pot and levitated it to refill Hermione’s cup. “What happened?”

“Nothing really,” Hermione said, keeping her eyes trained on her tea cup. “I just don’t think he likes me very much.” 

“And  _ why  _ would that be?” 

Hermione let her eyes wander over the diagrams hung on the wall, and then over towards the window, before settling back on Electra. “Well, I might have said some things…”

“Hermione...” Electra set her teacup down on her desk with a soft  _ clink _ . “What did you do?” Her voice had taken on a warning quality. 

Hermione fidgeted, and then decided it would just be better to be open with the truth. She took a deep breath before admitting, “Well, I sort of told him and one of his followers that their whole blood purity thing is nonsense.”

“Are you kidding me?” Electra’s mouth fell open in shock. After a moment, her expression morphed into a dark glare. “Merlin, Hermione, how could you!” She burst out. “What, did you think that this was going to be too easy without you turning yourself into a target? Thought it might be nice if Tom Riddle paid you extra attention for being  _ clearly  _ hostile to him?”

Hermione’s cheeks flushed with shame. “Please, Electra, it was in the heat of the moment! I didn’t think! He and Orion Black were being so horrible that I couldn’t help but—”

Electra silenced Hermione with a harsh look and abruptly pushed herself up off the desk. She let out a frustrated groan and began pacing around her cluttered office. “Didn’t I tell you to just blend in? Didn’t I  _ say  _ to play it cool?” She swiveled around and pointed an accusing finger at Hermione, who flinched back into her seat. “ _ You _ of all people should know what’s at stake here! Why would you do such a thing? Do you want us to fail? Is that it? Yes, you do, you must!” She threw her arms in the air, punctuating her rant with dramatic gestures. “You still hate that I brought you here, so you let your resentment blind you to what’s really important. You hate me so much that you relished the thought of ruining my delicately balanced plan, not even caring what else you destroy in the process!” 

“What the _hell_ , Electra, this is not about you!” Hermione snapped, her shame quickly turning into a burning anger at the direction the witch’s speech was taking. She knew she’d been stupid, Electra didn’t need to harp on her for it! “I _do_ know what’s at stake, I _know_ that I messed up, and I did _not_ plan this! I certainly wouldn’t let my opinions of you to get in the way of stopping _bloody_ Lord Voldemort! I’m sorry if my mistakes are messing up your _precious_ little plan,” she snarled, standing up and placing her hands on her hips to match Electra’s angry stance with one of her own. “Perhaps I could help you change it to account for this new turn of events—oh, wait! I know next to nothing about it, I’d probably just muck it up even more!” 

Electra glowered at her, a furious light flashing in her eyes. “I’ve told you everything you need to know to make this work!” she said, her voice low. “I took you out of mortal danger and sheltered you for two months, I taught you tons of new spells, I turned you into a  _ brilliant, powerful  _ witch, and all I ask is one thing in return! It was up to you to get on his good side, and it’s taken you less than twenty-four hours to go around and do the complete opposite!”

How dare she try to pass off her behavior towards Hermione as a boon! Hermione drew herself up to her full height and stared Electra straight in the eye. “Excuse me? You call pulling me back in time and putting me in school with  _ Tom Riddle  _ ‘taking me out of mortal danger?’ As if! Five minutes ago you were talking about how he was liable to torture me for information if he ever finds out where we’re from!”

Electra started to say something else, but Hermione talked even louder to drown her out. “And, news flash, Electra, _you_ did not ‘make me’! I was already brilliant! I was already powerful! I certainly didn’t need _you_ to teach me. I didn’t need you to do anything!”   

“Of course you did!” Electra shrieked, her voice climbing an octave. Her pale cheeks were flushed and her hair was starting to fall out of its bun again, “The Order wasn't going to win that battle, you know! Things were just going to get worse and worse for you until it all fell apart! Without me, you'd be  _ dead!”  _

Hermione’s mouth fell open and the two witches stared at each other, silent for a moment as they caught their breaths. “I… I was supposed to die that night?” She finally asked, her voice shaking the tiniest bit. Electra had always been tight-lipped about how the future would have turned out. She’d said it was bad for the forces of light and good in the world, but there had never been any specifics. 

Electra blinked for a moment as her anger seemed to dissipate in light of what she’d just said. “Erm…” She looked away from Hermione then, staring at the wall behind her. “Well not that night, no,” she said slowly. “You’d have been one of the few survivors. But… Soon afterwards, you’d have… met an end.”

“Oh…” It wasn’t every day that one heard the prediction of their own death. Her legs felt a bit weak underneath her so she sank back into her chair. She stared at a pile of still-unshelved books on the floor as her mind turned over this new bit of knowledge. She had never been frightened of death predictions such as the ones Trelawney spewed in Divination class—they were total guess work, complete rubbish. But having your death confirmed by a person from the future… That was not a prediction, it was a death sentence. It didn’t matter, she’d been removed from the timeline, but still, it was…disconcerting. To think everything she and Harry and Ron and the Order had been fighting for for  _ years _ had all been for naught…  

“I’m sorry, you weren’t supposed to know that,” Electra said, her voice tired. “And anyway, we’re going to change that. Everything will be different now—”

“Where did we go wrong?” Hermione asked, her brow furrowed. “I mean, I know it doesn’t matter now, but, did we miss a Horcrux? Could we not kill Nagini? Or—was I wrong about how to destroy them? Could it be—”

“It wasn’t your fault,” Electra interrupted, coming over to stand by Hermione. She placed a firm hand on Hermione’s shoulder and looked her straight in the eye with an unwavering gaze . “I promise. I’ve thoroughly researched that battle, I know exactly what happened on both sides, and there was nothing you could have done.” Her dark eyes were fiercely sincere, and her voice turned pleading. “But Hermione, listen to me: none of that matters now. That timeline is lost. It wouldn’t do to dwell on what would have been—”

“Harry died, didn’t he,” she whispered. Electra closed her eyes and nodded.  Hermione let out a shaky breath and scrunched her eyes shut, trying to fend off the tears threatening to fall. Her best friend, dead. The very thing that she’d been working to prevent for  _ seven  _ years. She’d had her suspicions, but she’d never really wanted to think about the implications of Electra’s actions, that being one of them. It just hurt too much to imagine. 

“So me, and Harry—and Ron too, I suppose. We all would have died.” The words tasted bitter on her tongue, but she thought saying it out loud might make it easier to accept. “But the others would have kept going, until they died too.” Her mind conjured up the corpses of a dozen loved ones. “So Ginny, and Fred, and George, and Tonks and Lupin, and Neville, and Luna, and—”

“No, Luna Lovegood survived,” Electra said quietly. Hermione forced her eyes open, and saw that Electra was now gazing out the window, her expression distant. “So did George Weasley. They managed to get out of Britain and join the reincarnation of the Order of the Phoenix on the continent. They kept fighting, kept resisting...”

Hope hadn’t been lost that day, hadn’t died with Harry? “So we lost the battle, but… the war kept raging.”

“The war kept raging,” Electra echoed, her voice hollow. “My entire life. It slowed, and it moved, but it was always there.” She shook her head once, and then turned her focus back on Hermione. “There’s a reason I’m so desperate to stop this,” she continued evenly. “Everything I’ve ever done has been in the shadow of that bloody war. No one in my generation had a chance at a normal life. Not on Voldemort’s side, and not on the Order’s.” She paused, her eyes blazing defiantly. “That’s why things must be done differently. I can’t let one boy’s foolish actions take away so many lives. I’m taking our childhood back.” 

“And mine, too,” Hermione added softly. She’d been helping Harry fight since they’d been  _ eleven _ . As young adults, they’d been given the task of taking down the Darkest Wizard of the era with little to no outside help. All of them had been forced to become adults much sooner than they should have.

Electra nodded. “Yours, too. I only want happiness for you, Hermione, and I hope you can come to understand that. Also… I’m sorry. I overreacted. Merlin knows I’ve made my share of mistakes, how can I expect you not to?”

Hermione swallowed, trying to remedy the sudden dryness in her throat. “Thank you, Electra. I’m sorry, too.” 

“Good. And anyway, this is not the end of the world.” Electra smiled, but it looked like there was still a bitter light behind her eyes. “We’re both still here, aren’t we? There’s always something else we can do.”

There was, wasn’t there? She’d already had a plan. “Lucretia Black suggested I talk to Alphard about it. He knows about Slytherin, he can help,” Hermione said, forcing an optimistic beat in her tone.  

Electra furrowed her brow skeptically. “Alphard Black, the Head Boy?” Hermione nodded, and Electra pursed her lips for a moment. “History doesn’t remember much about him,” she said finally. “Not enough for me to have a read on his character, anyhow. Do you trust him with something as important as this?”

“He hates Tom Riddle, he clearly has a clue!” Hermione replied. “He’s already proven himself by helping me.  _ And _ he gave gold to Sirius when he ran away,” she added. “I trusted Sirius.” 

Electra shook her head. “Just, be careful, alright? I know it might seem tempting to just trust your new friends, but you’re in Slytherin. That would be pretty naive—”

“I am  _ not  _ naive!” Hermione huffed, crossing her arms. “I think I can decide who to trust for myself!”

Electra frowned, but then sighed, perhaps wanting to avoid another fight. “Suit yourself.” She gave Hermione another long, searching look. Hermione shifted uncomfortably under her gaze. After a moment, Electra shook her head again before walking over to the window and staring out at the castle grounds. “Dinner starts soon, dear,” she said distantly. “You should probably go.” 

Hermione was relieved at the dismissal. She stood up and smoothed out her skirt before shuffling awkwardly around the piles on the floor to reach the door. “Alright, well… Goodnight, Electra.”

“Goodnight, Hermione.” 

And Hermione left.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi again! 
> 
> Here's another update to start out everyone's weekend! It's not the most exciting of chapters, but it was interesting to write, and I promise more action to come soon. 
> 
> I was, unfortunately, correct in my predictions about how long it would take me to get the next few chapters ready. After a conversation with one of my actual Slytheirn friends (I am very much a Hufflepuff so can occasionally characterize them incorrectly) I ended up revisiting my outline and completely changing the direction of the next few chapters. While it is certainly much more interesting than the original plan, it also means that I've got a lot more work to do. So, once again, I'm setting a two-week goal for the next update. 
> 
> Thank you so much to everyone who's left kudos or reviews, you make my day every time :)


	10. How to Succeed in Slytherin without Really Lying

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another update, two weeks later as promised! I just want to take a moment to give a shout-out to my AMAZING beta and even more amazing friend, The Revanchist; without them, this whole chapter would have been much worse, especially all the Slytherin stuff at the end. Also, to anyone who's actually a Slytherin, I'm sorry if I get you wrong, and my friend did point out that some of the ways that Hermione interprets the conversation are a bit off, but that's because she's seeing it through a certain lens and it's hopefully in line with her character, not necessarily a genuine Slytherin. 
> 
> This chapter is the one that pushed me over 50,000 words for NaNoWriMo, and as it was my second lifetime win, that's super exciting! But on the other hand, it means that all future chapters will be written on an update-to-update basis. I am still hoping to maintain steady two week intervals between posting, but life is unpredictable, so who knows. 
> 
> Anyway, enjoy!

**** After leaving Electra’s office, all Hermione wanted to do was go back to her dorm and curl up in her bed, to close her eyes and pretend the rest of the world didn’t exist for a while. Or, since her bed was located in the heart of enemy territory, perhaps run to a hidden corner of the library and ensconce herself into the familiar safety provided by the books, even if it would only be illusionary. But alas, hiding herself away would probably only make things worse. Tom Riddle and his Knights might get the impression that they’d managed to scare her off, and she wouldn’t have that. Plus a sudden disappearance could also damage her budding relationships with the nice Slytherins she had met. And really, some light-hearted conversation might be just the thing she needed right now. So, steeling her resolve, she forced herself to take the turns in the corridors that led to the Great Hall, where dinner would be served shortly.

She was one of the first people there, and was disappointed to see that the end of the table that Alphard and his friends usually claimed was still empty. She decided to go sit there anyway and wait for the others to arrive. 

As she got closer to the Slytherin table, she noticed that Avery  _ was  _ there—he was standing near the middle of the table, where Riddle’s crew sat. Riddle wasn’t there, but two of the Knights were. They were some sixth years whose names she hadn’t learned yet. One had wavy, golden blonde hair, and the other had dark brown hair and a bit of stubble around his chin. They were engaged in an intense, whispered conversation with Avery. She frowned as she recalled what Riddle had said that morning about Avery. He had been so nice and welcoming that she hadn’t wanted to believe it, but there he was, chatting with the junior Death Eaters. Perhaps he did want to be one, after all… 

The boy in question noticed her as she walked past and gave her a quick smile. “All right there, Hermione?” He called. “I’ll join you in a minute. Alph and Des should be here soon, too!”

Hermione glanced at the two Knights, who were eyeing her suspiciously, but they seemed less hostile than some of the others had been. She wasn’t in the mood for yet another confrontation with them today, and so she just forced a smile in Avery’s direction. “Thanks, Byron. Take your time, I’m all right!” 

She approached the end of the table and slid into the seat opposite to the one she’d taken last night. She hadn’t liked having her back to the rest of the Hall, it had left her feeling too vulnerable. Now, she was able to easily survey her surroundings. The rest of the House tables were slowly filling up as students trickled into the hall. She spotted Augusta Rookwood and another Gryffindor girl chatting at the far end of the Hall. When Hermione caught her eye, Augusta gave her a fierce scowl. Hermione dropped her eyes to her empty plate and let out a small sigh. Orpheus had said that the Gryffindors she’d met yesterday were all shocked by the results of her sorting, even if she’d immediately allied herself with the “decent” Slytherins. She supposed she’d get a chance to try and explain herself when she saw them at the next Anti-Riddle alliance meetings, or whatever… 

Someone slid into the seat beside her and Hermione turned, expecting to see one of her new friends. However, she was met with the sight of one of her new dormmates, Noelle Bulstrode. 

“Um… Hello, there,” Hermione said, furrowing her brow. What could this girl possibly want?

Noelle smiled widely, showing off two rows of blindingly white teeth. “Hello, Miss Temple—may I call you Hermione?” She had long, raven-colored hair that was styled in an immaculate forties coiff. Her eyes were a bright blue, and were expertly made up in the fashionable style of the decade. She was much more fortunate in her looks than the Bulstrode Hermione remembered from her day, Millicent. 

Hermione was a bit surprised to be addressed in such an abrupt and friendly way, but forced herself to smile back. “Sure, Miss Bulstrode. May I help you with something?”

“Oh, please, it’s Noelle,” the dark-haired girl simpered. “I actually came over here to invite you to join me and some of the other girls for dinner.” 

Hermione stared at her, taking a second to process her words. Hadn’t the rest of the Slytherins heard about her controversial views by now? Shouldn’t they be avoiding her? And she would much rather sit with her new friends than the girl who had spent half of Herbology shrieking about a little popping noise. Her voice was shrill and rather grating. “How… kind of you to offer,” Hermione finally said. “However, I already agreed to sit with Alphard Black and—”

“Oh, but you’ve already met them all!” Noelle interrupted, waving her hand to cut her off. “The rest of our House is  _ dying  _ to make your acquaintance! Besides, we really want to hear all about your plans to prank that filthy Mudblood Warren!”

“Excuse me?” 

“That's what you're doing, right—setting her up for some hilarious embarrassment? Why else would you bother with her?”

Hermione raised an eyebrow. “Um. Because I’m a decent person?” 

Noelle frowned at her, her eyebrows knitted together in confusion. “But—she’s a  _ Mudblood _ . That’s barely even a witch! Why waste decency on her?”

“Something tells me that if I went and sat with you, we’d have very little to talk about,” Hermione said after a moment. 

The other girl narrowed her eyes. “And what’s that supposed to mean?” 

Hermione rolled her eyes; she was quickly running out of patience to deal with this idiot girl, especially after the day she’d been having. “I mean, I tend to get along better with people who can use their brains and form their own opinions about the world rather than mindlessly parroting back whatever rubbish they’ve heard from their parents.”

Noelle pursed her lips and considered Hermione. “So that’s the way it’s going to be, then?” she said after a moment, nodding slowly. “Very well; in that case, allow me to pass on a message, on the behalf of all of us Slytherin girls.”

Hermione gritted her teeth. “And what would that be?”

Noelle leaned in close enough that Hermione got a noseful of the girl’s obnoxiously floral perfume. “Watch yourself, you little blood-traitor,” she hissed. “Think carefully before you make your next move.” 

“Excuse me, Noelle!” Des’s clipped tone interrupted them. The sixth-year Prefect was standing next to the table with her arms crossed, frowning at Hermione’s tormentor. “I hope you’re not here to bother Hermione.”

“Of course not, Desirée,” Noelle leaned back and fluttered her eyelashes at the older girl innocently. “I was merely welcoming  _ dear  _ Hermione to Slytherin!” 

Des raised a skeptical eyebrow. “Right. Well, if that’s all, I think that Evelyn and Gladys were looking for you. At the other end of the table.” 

The other girl got up and left without so much as a farewell towards Hermione, not that she cared. Des sighed and sat down in the seat opposite Hermione, rolling her eyes. “ _ S _ orry about that, Hermione. I hope she wasn’t too bad.”

“It’s fine,” Hermione replied, shrugging. “I’m not exactly scared of  _ her _ , if you know what I mean.”

Des nodded. “Fair enough, but still. You should probably watch your back in the dorms. She’s quite catty and can be downright vindictive when she puts her mind to it. I should know, I used to be friends with her.”

“Really?” Hermione raised an eyebrow as she picked up her goblet to take a drink. Des seemed so… nice. Normal. She was more like the Gryffindors that Hermione knew from her day and age than the Slytherin girls, whose cliquish ways seemed to have changed little in fifty years. 

“Yeah. I was friends with all the other girls, actually. Back before the whole episode with you-know-who.” 

Just like last night, Hermione choked on a mouthful of pumpkin juice and started coughing, while Des looked on, half-amused half-concerned. 

“Are you just really bad at drinking pumpkin juice?” She asked, her brows furrowed. “Or does it have to do with me speaking?” 

Hermione shook her head as she recovered her breathing. “Sorry. An accident. Please, go on.” 

“Evening, Des!” Avery slid into the seat next to Hermione, looking between the two. Hermione glanced at the middle of the table where he’d been having his whispered conversation, and noted that Riddle had arrived. Perhaps that had finally put an end to Avery’s chat with the Knights. “What’re we talking about?” 

“I was telling Hermione about how I used to hang out with the likes of Bulstrode and crew,” Des said. The moment Byron had sat down, she’d narrowed her eyes and pulled the small pot of jam that was resting on the table over towards her plate. 

“Ah, the pack of giggling, makeup obsessed harpies, who have nothing better to do than follow around Riddle and the Quidditch-player-of-the-month?” Avery said lightly. He took a dinner roll onto his plate and then glanced at Des, smirking. “Pass the jam?” 

Des smiled sweetly. “What other harpies make their roost in the Slytherin Common room? And I’m afraid I still need this, Byron!” 

Avery frowned. “Nonsense, you’re not even having a roll!” 

Des shrugged. “But Alphard will, and he’ll blame  _ me  _ if you take all the blackberry jam  _ again _ !” 

Avery rolled his eyes and then looked at Hermione. “You know, we all marvel at how much she’s changed since last year, but then she goes and does something as cruel and unnecessary as this—!”

“Well, I’m not the only one who used to run in less savory circles,” Des said, smirking. “And  _ I’ve  _ practically severed those ties, while you still try to get invited back!” 

Avery scowled. “Cyg and Devon have been my best friends since we were kids!” He said, his tone defensive. “And they only stopped talking to me because of you-know-who!” Hermione marveled at the odds of them choosing that exact euphemism to discuss Riddle in public. “ _ Your  _ old friends,” Avery continued, “are all heartless and shallow, and turned on you the moment you insulted their poor, dear, Riddle.  _ They  _ were the problem, and you realized it.”   

“Fair enough,” Des conceded, and then offered him a small smile. “But that doesn’t change the fact that you’re an absolute glutton when it comes to jam, and our dear friend Alphard gets most put out when you take it all before he arrives!”

Avery gave Hermione an exasperated look. “You see what I have to put up with? She’s incorrigible! Anyway, Hermione, how was your first day?” 

Hermione forced another smiled and replied, “Good enough, I suppose.” The morning had been awful, and her meeting with Electra had only compounded those feelings. But she was determined to forget about that. 

“Oh, good, you’re all here!” Alphard stepped into view and sat down in the seat next to Des. A moment later, Lucretia seated herself on Hermione’s left. 

Des pushed the blackberry jam over towards Alphard. “Saved this from Byron for you.”

Alphard picked it up and smirked at Avery. “Thanks, Des. Knew I could count on you.”

“How was your meeting with your cousin?” Lucretia asked, smiling at Hermione as she began to dish food onto her plate. 

“It was good.” Hermione realized she was starting to sound like a broken record. She forced herself to elaborate, “I told her about my first day of classes, she told me about hers.”  _ She told me about her elaborate schemes to stop Tom Riddle. I told her how I’d pissed off Lord Voldemort and his followers. She told me that I was going to die.  _ “It was nice.” 

“Her class was amazing!” Avery said. His gaze was turned onto the staff table, where Electra had just seated herself next to the Charms teacher, Professor Trill. “Your cousin really knows her stuff, Hermione!”

“It  _ was  _ an interesting lesson,” Des agreed, spooning gravy onto her plate. “She was demonstrating different shielding techniques, you know, beyond a simple  _ protego _ , and had students volunteer to shoot curses at her.” 

Avery grabbed the jam as soon as Alphard set it down and started smearing a generous amount on his dinner roll. “At first, everyone was nervous about cursing a professor, so they would throw really weak spells at her. When Abraxas Malfoy tried to hit her with a tickling curse, she started laughing and asking him if that was  _ really  _ the best anyone could do, if we were N.E.W.T. students for nothing! His face got so red, it was priceless!” 

Des smirked and continued the story. “So  _ finally  _ Ignatius Prewett goes up there and throws out a really powerful  _ Reducto,  _ and she just grins and does this weird little half shield thing, and Prewett’s spell completely dissipates! Then she gives twenty points to Gryffindor for, ‘finally showing some guts’ and goes on to explain the advantages and disadvantages of the shield she used.”

“Of  _ course  _ Ignatius was the one to step up,” Alphard said. For some reason he threw a rakish wink at Lucretia. “Good old Iggy, you can always count on him!”

“Hush, Alphard.” For some reason, Lucretia’s pale cheeks had become tinged with a light pink blush. 

“What?” Alphard asked, his voice light. ‘You don’t like hearing about  _ brave  _ Iggy,  _ strong  _ Iggy,  _ reliable  _ Iggy—”

The blonde girl’s grip on her knife had tightened so that her knuckles were white. “Alphard!”

Alphard ignored her, instead lifting his hand and sweeping it dramatically through the air in front of him. “Wouldn’t you have loved to be there to see it, cuz? I know I would have! To watch as Iggy nobly cast his curse, his muscles rippling, his perfect hair flowing out behind him—”

“I said shut up, you prick!” Lucretia’s voice had gone up an octave and she was glowering at her cousin. 

Alphard smirked, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “Now what sort of language is that for a well-bred pure-blood lady? What foul besmirchment on the noble house of Black!”    

“Ignatius Prewett is Lucretia’s fiance,” Avery whispered loudly in Hermione’s ear. 

“Wait, you’re engaged?” Hermione gaped at Lucretia. The girl was only fifteen! Well, she supposed, pure-blood families, especially in the forties, must do things differently than she was used to, but still… 

Lucretia’s blush deepened and she stared into her goblet of pumpkin juice with the intensity of a Divination student seeking their future in tea leaves. “Arranged marriage. Traditional for British Pureblood families,” she muttered. “It’s not that big of a deal, we’ve known about it since last summer. And we’ve hardly spoken ten words to each other since the contracts were signed—”

“And despite that, she’s got an  _ enormous  _ crush on him!” Alphard exclaimed, smirking at his younger cousin. “Goes to see every Gryffindor Quidditch match, blushes if he looks at her in a corridor, fawns over his picture in the yearbook—”

“Honestly, it’s not that bad!” Lucretia snapped, slamming her cup down onto the table to shoot her cousin another deadly glare. “And  _ he  _ doesn’t even care what I do either way, so I don’t see why it should matter! If we weren’t engaged, I doubt he’d even know I exist!” After a second, she sniffed and added, “And I would say that I’m lucky; at least I’m happy with my prospects for the future! It means I won’t have to resort to causing a scandal to get out of  _ my  _ engagement.”

Alphard rolled his eyes. “That was all Father’s fault. How he could  _ think  _ I’d ever marry someone like Evelyn Vane is beyond me! And I didn’t start dating Min  _ in order  _ to get the contract voided, I started dating her ‘cause I was crazy about her. Getting Vane off my back was a happy side-effect.” 

Hermione raised her eyebrows. All this talk of pure-blood marriage contracts was completely foreign to her. “You had an arranged marriage, too?” She asked Alphard. 

Alphard took a swig of pumpkin juice and then gave Hermione a cocky grin.“Yes, but thankfully the pure blooded banshee in question was so offended when Min and I made our relationship public that she made her father withdraw from the arrangement. I  _ really  _ dodged a curse there, mind you,” he said, shaking his head. “Evelyn Vane is a right harpy. Still, not as bad as what Cyg and Orion have got, and  _ they’re  _ much too worried about pleasing their parents to do what I did and ditch their predetermined spouse!” Hermione had no trouble seeing the rebellious streak in the Black family running straight from Alphard to Sirius. It was no wonder that Alphard would give Sirius some gold when he ran away…. 

“Ugh, don’t remind me!” Lucretia said, her blush starting to fade a bit. “I couldn’t believe it this summer when their contracts went through. Orion having to marry Walburga is one thing, but  _ Druella  _ as my sister-in-law? I'll have to be a bridesmaid in that wedding, you know!”

At this, Hermione shivered a bit. The marriage of Cygnus Black and Druella Rosier would bring about the births of the future Bellatrix Lestrange and Narcissa Malfoy…. Unconsciously her hand brushed her glamoured forearm and she cringed slightly. Here she was, casually listening to the premonition of that dark, twisted madwoman and Draco’s complex and inscrutable mother at the dinner table… But it wouldn't be all bad, would it? Andromeda Black, Cygnus and Druella’s second daughter, would become the mother of Tonks, who would in turn fall for Remus Lupin and become the mother of Teddy… It was hard to decide how she should ultimately feel about it. History was so complicated… 

“Hey, you ok there, Hermione?” Avery asked. All four of her Slytherin companions were watching her curiously. Hermione realized she must have been letting her inner feelings show and tried to banish the morose expression from her face. 

“I know it might seem strange if you haven't been raised to it, but arranged marriages with your distant cousins aren't really  _ that  _ bad,” Lucretia said tentatively, frowning a bit. “I mean, if we  _ really  _ mind it then we do something like what Alph did.” 

“No, that's not it,” Hermione said, her voice a bit distant. “I've just… It's been a long day.” 

“I can imagine,” Avery said, while the others all nodded and hummed sympathetically. 

“Well, I'm almost done here, anyway,” Alphard said, pushing his plate forwards a bit. “If you're finished eating, Lucretia mentioned there was something you wanted to talk to me about in private? You and I can head to my common room now, and the others can catch up later.”

Hermione hesitated and then nodded. She wasn't very hungry anymore. “That sounds good.” 

Alphard stood up and and gestured for Hermione to follow him. She walked around the table to where Alphard was standing and he offered her his arm. She took it, and he started leading her towards the door of the Great Hall. This time, as she passed the center of the table where Riddle was holding court with his Knights, she chanced a look. Sure enough, his dark eyes were following her movements through the aisle. As they locked gazes, he half-raised an eyebrow, as if challenging her to do something about his stares. She looked away.

Alphard was speaking again. “Minerva mentioned that she's going to be having some friends stop by later this evening, too. Just so you know.” He gave her a significant look, and she took that to mean she should expect the Gryffindors who opposed Riddle to show up later. 

Once they reached the Head’s Common Room, Alphard whispered the flimsy password to the tapestry and gestured for her to step inside the hole in the wall. 

“So, how bad is it?” Hermione asked once the tapestry had closed behind them. 

Alphard sighed heavily as he walked over to the green couch and collapsed on it. He looked at her and shrugged. “Pretty bad, probably. I need specifics, but….” 

Hermione sat down on the next to him. “I’m sorry?” she said hesitantly.

Alphard shook his head. “I mean, don’t apologize for sharing your views. Especially when those views are correct! Honestly, in almost any other situation, I’d be patting you on the back. Those idiots could use some challenge to their ridiculous beliefs. Why, even at the beginning of last year, we might’ve thrown you a party for mouthing off to Orion like that! But ever since Riddle came along and took charge of them, they’ve gotten…organized. And dangerous. So now, challenging them must be done…carefully.”

Hermione sighed. “I’d figured that out almost the moment I closed my mouth,” she admitted. “But aside from trying to Obliviate the conversation from Orion, Riddle, and everyone else that they’ve undoubtedly told, I don’t really see how I can change that now. So I guess what I really want to know is what you think is going to happen next, and what you think I should do?” 

Alphard pondered this for a moment. “Well, Obliviation of the entirety of Slytherin isn’t an option—and trust me, by the time this evening is over, the whole house is going to be talking about it, if not the whole school—and neither is taking back your stance.” 

“What do you mean?”

Alphard shrugged. “Right now, you’re a blood-traitor, like me. If you take it back, you’re a cowardly blood-traitor without any honor.”

Hermione smirked. “Honor? That sounds like a Gryffindor thing. I thought we were all slimy scheming snakes with no moral code to hiss about!”

“Don't be cute,” Alphard sniffed. “Slytherins  _ do  _ have honor, they just think about it a bit differently from Gryffindors or Hufflepuffs. When we take a stance, we don’t tend to overly commit ourselves. And when we do, we never do it so  _ publicly _ , not if we don’t fully intend to support it. We  _ despise  _ having to backtrack. It lessens our credibility when we do have to trade on our honor. Or, I suppose you might call it pride… We’ve got quite a lot of pride in Slytherin.”

Hermione wrinkled her brow. Apparently things had changed in her day. She remembered stories of countless former Death Eaters lying about their loyalties later on when they were caught and Voldemort deposed. Perhaps Tom Riddle had worked some sort of long lasting change on the ways of Slytherin house. 

“Ok, then, what do you propose?”

Alphard pursed his lips. “Tell me exactly what you said to them. As close to word for word as you can get.” 

Hermione did her best to remember her words and repeated them to Alphard. When she was finished, he was looking at her thoughtfully.

“So, you didn’t actually say anything that nonsensical, except by bigoted pureblood standards,” he said after a moment. “Basically you argued for not letting a label dictate your behavior, and for judging people based on their ability rather than their ancestry. Both ideas are quite in the spirit of Slytherin, actually—”

“There's nothing Slytherin or Gryffindor about it! It's just common sense!” Hermione exclaimed.

Alphard shrugged. “Maybe, maybe not. But the thing is, while those might be good ideas, part of the ‘Slytherin code,’ if you will, there’s a direct conflict between your behavior and the ‘Slytherin mode,’ as I like to call it.”

“What do you mean?”

Alphard flashed her a devious grin. “What you did in the classroom, spelling out your worldview to defend your honor, regardless of whom it might offend, that’s  _ Gryffindor  _ behavior. Actually, when we tell this story to Minerva and her friends, that’ll probably win you the support of their entire house. Slytherins, however, don’t do that sort of thing. We have our beliefs, and we stick to them, but we do it in a way that doesn’t risk…burning any bridges, you might say. Not until we’ve determined that we don’t need those bridges to cross later, that is.”

Hermione scowled at him. “So Slytherins are never honest about what they really believe—”

Alphard held up his hand and shook his head. “No, that’s not quite it. We are… We’re constantly thinking about what’s advantageous and disadvantageous to our own personal goals. If occasionally that means compromising our personal code along the way, for the sake of a larger and more important pay-out in the future, then that’s what we do. It’s not so much about the methods as the result, you see?”

Hermione mulled Alphard’s words over. They were making a sort of sense, in a strange way that Hermione really didn’t like. “Maybe?” she said after a moment. “Perhaps you could give me an example.”

Alphard nodded. “Ok, well, let’s look at me. I’m from an ancient pureblood family. Most of the time, we take great pride in following in the traditions of our families. Being consistent like that helps us to negotiate with other pureblood families. If we get labeled as rebellious, it’s a lot harder to trade in on familial connections to get jobs, favors, et cetera.  _ That  _ is the number one reason for sticking to the arranged marriages—well it is for those of us who aren’t so offended by the idea of ‘diluting the bloodlines’ that semi-incest doesn’t turn us off—” 

Alphard stopped and shook his head. “I’m getting off track. You recall that I  _ won’t  _ be fulfilling the marriage contract that my parents negotiated with the Vanes, and in fact have almost irrevocably sullied my name by entering into a public relationship with a muggle-born witch. Can you, based on what I’ve told you about Slytherins, explain to me why I did this?”

Hermione thought for a moment before saying hesitantly, “Well, you must have decided that those family connections were less useful to reaching your personal goals than dating Minerva would be.”

Alphard nodded. “Right you are. In this case, I was left some money by my great-uncle and am no longer dependent on my parents for financial security. In addition, I’ve been offered a job by an old classmate that I can turn into a suitable career. Therefore, I saw no reason to continue playing the part of doting fiance for Evelyn Vane, who I’m not sure you’ve met, but is absolutely _ dreadful _ . So, when Minerva and I hit it off, I didn’t really care about the repercussions and did what made us both happy. And if this doesn’t work out, and I have to get back into the circle,” he paused and shrugged. “I know for a fact that I could get Noelle Bulstrode to have me as a husband if I went to her and told her her how Minerva bewitched me with her evil Mudblood ways, and say that I need a nice pureblood girl to help me see the light again. Noelle’s prettier than Evelyn, anyway.”  

All of Hermione’s Gryffindor pride was roaring in offense at Alphard’s explanation and the way he was suggesting she behave. Weighing personal costs and benefits without caring how it affected the feelings of others… It was not what she liked to do. She liked to feel moral and honorable and  _ good _ . However, she knew that she couldn’t afford to bare her true colors, much as she wished it—the success of her mission, and the fate of the twentieth century wizarding world, depended on her ability to blend into Slytherin House in the 1940’s with as little scrutiny from Tom Riddle as possible. She closed her eyes. “I think I’m starting to see,” she said. “It’s… It’s not what I’ve been taught. But…” She was  _ supposed  _ to be a Slytherin, so she would have to act as if she wasn’t repulsed by the idea. “I can see how it’s a smart strategy.” 

Alphard’s face broke out into a relieved smile. “ _ Good _ . I knew you’d see, once I explained. And it’s really not that hard to learn. We’ll help teach you, if you’d like. Then you won’t make any more rash decisions.”

“And about my rant this morning?” 

Alphard put his hands behind his head and leaned back. “It’s a bit of a long shot, but I think that we can actually work this in your favor.”

“How so?”

“There are certain segments of this school that would commend you for standing up to the likes of Orion. Many members of Gryffindor, of Hufflepuff, and even of Ravenclaw don’t think that it’s right for the purebloods to act the way they do. If they see you, the pretty, talented new girl, take a stand against it, they will probably fall in behind you and offer their support.  You would have quantity over quality, the support of over half the school. It’s what I’ve got, actually. Ever since I started dating Min.”

“But what will the other Slytherins think if I do this?” She didn’t share a Common Room or Dormitory with the Gryffindors, Hufflepuffs,  _ or  _ Ravenclaws… 

Alphard shrugged. “Some will probably start to hate you, namely Riddle and his ilk. But they’re not the only Slytherins; as long as you don’t go too far, the rest of the house will likely tolerate you. Some might even come to admire you, if they figure out that you’re basically trying to take power. That’s all they respect, really. Power plays.”

Suddenly, Hermione remembered her conversation with Riddle from this morning, when he had described Alphard’s defence of her as him making “inane little power plays”. Alphard  _ was  _ a Slytherin… “So, assuming that I understand what you’re trying to explain about Slytherins, then…” She almost didn’t want to ask, but she knew it would bother her if she didn’t hear his explanation. “Why are you helping me? What’s in it for you?”

Alphard smirked. “See if you can’t figure that one out.” 

Hermione glared at him, before putting her mind to work. “Well…” she began, worrying her lip with her teeth thoughtfully as she pieced together what she knew about him. “You’re Head Boy. So you clearly don’t mind being in a position of power, probably even enjoy it.” Alphard nodded, and she continued. “You’re charming, good-looking, presumably academically talented, and I’m assuming that you were all these things before you started dating Minerva. I’d guess that if Riddle weren’t around, you would be a leader of sorts within Slytherin House.” 

He grinned. “A fair guess. I can’t be entirely sure, but I would wager so, yes. Keep going.”  

“Well, because Riddle  _ is _ here, you’re stuck in this sort of power struggle with him, except he’s taking things a lot further than you’re willing to go.”

Alphard nodded grimly. “Can’t fight his fire with fire, or we’d burn the whole castle to the ground. And admittedly, I lack the amount of finesse required to get away with that sort of thing. It would ruin my reputation, since the professors would catch on to me in a heartbeat.” He raised an eyebrow at her, and she realized he’d just given her a clue. 

“All of the professors love Riddle,” she said slowly. “Except of course Dumbledore. But since you’re in Slytherin, he’s not of much use to you. He wouldn’t trust your morals the way he would of say, a Gryffindor.”

“Yes, aside from Dumbledore, Riddle’s had the faculty eating out of the palm of his hand since his first year,” Alphard said bitterly. “The staff, too—even the caretaker likes him!”

Hermione’s face twisted in distaste as she realized what the intent behind all of Alphard’s goodwill towards her had been. “All of the faculty except for Hogwarts’ newest Professor. Electra Temple. My older cousin.”

“Don’t take it the wrong way, Hermione,” Alphard said quickly, seeing her expression. “I think you’re a lovely person so far, and even if you weren’t so well connected, I would have reached out. I  _ am  _ Head Boy, after all. But what I wouldn’t have done is invite you into our little group so quickly, even if you seemed amenable to our ideas. It would have been too big of a risk for an unknown reward. But when I heard about Professor Merrythought’s accident, and then your cousin’s appointment and your transfer, I saw a chance for us to have a professor who’s not already won over by  _ him _ , to get them to see past his mask. And maybe if I could get her cousin to see it, first….”

Hermione scoffed. “Electra won’t fall for Riddle’s tricks,” she said confidently. For all of Hermione’s conflicted feelings about the witch, she was certain Electra could be trusted not to be fooled by  _ Lord Voldemort _ . “She doesn’t need me to tell her that he’s no good.” 

Alphard shrugged. “Well then you can bet the moment Riddle saw his usual tricks weren’t working he would have tried to get on her good side, regardless. He might’ve then decided to approach you and use you for similar purposes as I intend, only in his own decidedly less benign way. So either I could prevent this by taking you into my confidence now, and ensure a positive connection with Professor Temple in the process, or leave you out in the cold for Riddle to swoop up when he had use of you.” 

Hermione scowled and stared at a spot on the floor. She resented the implication that she was some sort of  _ thing _ that Alphard or Riddle could just take and use without any input from her. Even without Alphard, she would never have let Riddle draw her in! But she had to admit, if she’d come into Hogwarts with no knowledge of Riddle’s future, she too might have been drawn into his pretty-faced ploy. She only saw his inner megalomaniac because she was looking for it. Alphard didn’t know that, but he did know how charming Riddle could be, so she understood his logic. She understood, it all made perfect sense, but she still  _ hated  _ it.

“I just… Have never spent so much time thinking about how exactly my friends can be useful to me,” she said at last. “I don’t  _ mind  _ being useful to my friends, I actually love to help with schoolwork and studying, most of the time, but I hate it when people seem like they’re my friends  _ only  _ to get what I’m offering. I can’t really wrap my head around forming relationships motivated by that.” 

Alphard sighed and spread his hands out in front of him. “I’m sorry, Hermione, but that’s the way it is. That’s just… Slytherin. We’re not… We  _ do  _ have real friendships, real feelings. Our personal goals that we work towards  _ can  _ include that sort of happiness. We just are also open to other possibilities. If someone else can help us get what we need, we won’t pass that up. We make the most of every situation. Surely you can see the wisdom behind that?”

Hermione closed her eyes, hating it. Hating that she had to accept it, that this was her life now. “I know, I know. I think I can learn.” She took a deep breath and then looked him in the eye, steeling her resolve. “I don’t like it, but I can learn it.” 

“Good. That’s all I ask…” Alphard hesitated, and then added, “That thought process is only the basic essence of being in Slytherin, you know. There’s lots of other little things to learn. When to smile, when to sneer, how to go about snubbing people. You get the idea. If you’d like, I can ask Lucretia to sort of… tutor you on how to act within our house. She’s actually one of the best players of our little political game. Heck, I’m her cousin, and I’m still only about seventy-five percent sure I know what she’s really thinking and what she’s really like. You could learn a lot from her.”

Hermione snorted. “Funny. Riddle told me the same thing this morning.”  

Alphard blinked. Then he shook his head. “Well, at least he still respects Lucretia. It just goes to show how good she is, that even  _ he  _ thinks she’s too smart to fall for him. So, what do you say?”

“I guess that would be good,” Hermione finally answered. She  _ did  _ like Lucretia, so spending extra time with her would not be a chore, and if she had to learn this stuff from anyone, she would prefer it coming from a friendly classmate rather than having to learn on her feet in the middle of the Snake Pit. 

“Excellent. I’ll talk to her about it later.” Alphard glanced at the clock above the fireplace. “Dinner’s been over for five minute, I expect we’ll be getting company any minute now.” 

Sure enough, just as he said that, they heard a chorus of laughter echoing down the hallway outside. A moment later, a female voice said, “ _ signum secretum _ ,” and the tapestry rolled up to reveal Minerva and the Gryffindors Hermione had met on the train. 

“Minerva, sweet!” Alphard stood up and the two of them met in the middle of the room, where he pulled his girlfriend into a passionate kiss.

“Gross, Minerva, do you  _ have  _ to do that when we’re around?” Septimus Weasley said, making a retching noise as he stepped across the threshold. 

Augusta rolled her eyes as she came in after him. “Oh, grow up, Sep! They’re  _ adults _ . Adults  _ kiss _ . Get over it!” 

“Well  _ I  _ think it’s sweet!” Euphemia cooed as Fleance helped her into the room. 

Fleance’s eyes widened into a look of panic. “You do?” 

Euphemia beamed. “Yes! They’re not afraid to show the world their love. It’s so romantic!”

“Godric, Euphemia, you’re so girly, it’s ridiculous!” Augusta scoffed. 

“What’s  _ she  _ doing here?” Septimus had caught sight of Hermione sitting on the Slytherin green couch. At his words, every pair of eyes in the room swiveled to her, and the Gryffindors all gasped in surprise. The only Gryffindor who didn’t look shocked by her presence was Minerva, who rolled her eyes, extracted herself from a disappointed Alphard’s embrace, and smiled at Hermione. 

“Oh, sorry, I’ve been rude again. Good evening, Hermione, I hope you’ve been well?”

Hermione nodded. “Good evening, Minerva. I’ve been fine, thank you.”

“What’s she  _ doing  _ here, Minerva?” Septimus exclaimed again, looking between the two girls. 

“She’s my guest, Weasley,” Alphard said, crossing his arms. “As you are Minerva’s. Please be polite.”

No one said anything for a minute before Euphemia stepped forward and offered Hermione a tentative smile. “It’s good to see you, Hermione.”

Hermione smiled back gratefully. “It’s good to see you, too.” 

After that, a barrier seemed to break down. “You lied to us, I can’t believe you—”

“I know I said I wouldn’t talk to you if you were put in Slytherin, but I didn’t  _ really  _ mean it, I’m sorry—”

“ _ Clearly  _ you’ve been dishonest with us from the very beginning, but what should we really expect, coming from a  _ snake _ —”

“Oh, come on, guys, she was  _ obviously  _ shocked when the Hat put her in Slytherin, didn’t you see her face—”

“—I don’t know how we’ll ever be able to trust you! How can we forgive—”

“ _ Everybody shut up! _ ” Minerva bellowed, and the Gryffindors all fell silent. “Now  _ listen _ , you idiots. Hermione was clearly a hat-stall, just like I was. It took a good five minutes for it to finally put her in Slytherin, so let’s give her the benefit of the doubt and assume that it almost put her in Gryffindor. She  _ must  _ have some Gryffindor traits, after all, to allow her to mouth off to Riddle and Orion Black like she did.”

“Wait, what now?” Septimus looked at Hermione in shock. 

“You mouthed off to  _ Riddle _ ? And  _ Black _ ?” Fleance beamed at her in admiration. 

“What’d you get on them about?” Augusta asked suspiciously. 

Hermione shrugged. “They were nagging me about not behaving like a ‘proper Slytherin’ and talking to muggle-borns, so I basically told them their labels and their blood-purity rhetoric was all nonsense and I would be having none of it.”

Fleance let out a low whistle. “Well she’s certainly brave enough to have been a Gryffindor!” 

Augusta frowned at Hermione and then admitted, almost reluctantly, “I suppose so.”

“Come sit down, and we’ll tell you the whole story,” Alphard said, settling back down on the green couch next to Hermione. The Gryffindors all squeezed onto the cushy red couch across from them, except for Minerva, whom Alphard pulled onto his lap. They all looked at Hermione expectantly, so she told them the story of what happened in Ancient Runes. It only took a few minutes, and when she was finished, the four Gryffindors who had befriended her on the train were all looking at her with varying degrees of fondness once more. 

“So is this why she has to come be a part of our alliance?” Augusta asked, looking at the Head Boy and Girl. “Because now Riddle’s Slytherins want to kill her?”

Alphard shrugged. “More or less.” Hermione frowned a bit at his misleading answer—his reasons were a  _ lot  _ more complicated than that—but the Gryffindors had already accepted it and moved on. The conversation turned to them offering her their own summaries of what life had been like with Riddle taking charge at Hogwarts. Their views on the power dynamics were much less cynical than Alphard’s, and were a lot easier for her to wrap her head around. She sat and listened, enjoying their talk. Oh, how she missed Gryffindor warmth… 

 


	11. Throwing Down The Gauntlet

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhh, sorry for the late update! But school, and writers block, and all those usual things happened, so here we are. This is sort of the "Finale" of "Act 1", so that's why it's so long. 
> 
> Enjoy!

When Hermione opened her eyes the next morning, the world was _still_ green. She shut them again and let out a soft groan, before forcing herself to take a deep breath and sit up, confronting the Slytherin drapery head-on.

After stretching and yawning, she worked up the courage push aside the curtains of the four-poster bed and swing her feet out into the dormitory. The stark contrast of her warm bed to the cold air of the dungeon caused the hair on her arms to bristle as she shivered a bit. She scowled. Who’d thought it was a good idea to make children sleep in the dungeon again? Oh, right. Everyone’s favorite racist bastard, Salazar Slytherin. Maybe she should ask Electra to teach her how to use the time-travel spell just so she could go back to the time of the Founders and have a _word_ with that man….

“So, the blood-traitor awakes.”

Hermione looked up and saw that Noelle Bulstrode and Druella Rosier were still in the dormitory. Noelle was sitting at her vanity, in the process of curling her hair with her wand. Druella’s brown tresses were already falling in perfect, silken waves past her shoulders, but she still wore a green silk robe and was looking over six variations on the school uniform that she’d spread out on her bed. She’d paused her activity to place her hands on her hips and glare sourly at Hermione; she was the one who’d spoken.

“Good morning,” Hermione said as nonchalantly as she could, trying to politely ignore their attitudes.

“Is it, now?” Druella sneered, walking across the room to stand by Hermione’s bed. “I hardly see what's so good about it when we've got to put up with such a _travesty_ in our very bedroom!”

Hermione was not even surprised that Druella Rosier had abruptly decided to hate her, and she couldn’t help but roll her eyes at the girl’s juvenile behavior.

“Which travesty are you referring to, Dru?” Noelle asked, smoothing her hands over her recently spelled curls. “Her politics, or her hair?”

“Both, obviously,” Druella sneered. “I _am_ wondering, Hermione—what is the concept behind your hair style? Broomstick? Night troll?”

“Where's Lucretia?” Hermione asked tiredly, doing her best to ignore their petty jabs. She’d heard it all before, anyway. Druella looked like she was going to say something more, but then the bathroom door opened and the blonde girl in question stepped out.

“Right here,” she said, smiling brightly as she entered the room. “Good morning, Hermione, I was just about to wake you!” She looked at Druella, who’d taken a step back when she’d entered. “And it’s so lovely to see you making an effort to get to know our new dorm mate, Dru!”

“Oh, of _course_ , Lucretia,” Druella gushed, flashing a blindingly white smile. “We wouldn't want poor little Hermione to feel unwelcome, after all! She’s _sure_ to have a hard enough time adjusting already, what with her complete lack of social graces and all.”

Hermione scowled, but Lucretia continued to smile genially. “Hermione, the bathroom’s free now if you’d like to freshen up,” she said, walking over to her own bed. “Also, Druella, we have Potions this morning, so I wouldn’t wear any of your silk; you know how the fumes ruin the fabric.”

Druella blinked at Lucretia, and then looked back at the clothes on her bed, muttered a thanks and then selected one.

“Could you come help me with this last curl, Lucretia?” Noelle asked. Lucretia nodded and moved to assist, taking out her wand and curling a lock of Noelle’s dark hair around it, muttering the spell.

Hermione watched them for a second, before shaking herself and gathering her clothing to take to the bathroom. As she got ready, she reflected on the rude awakening she’d received from her fellow Slytherin fifth years. Back in the Gryffindors dormitories, Parvati and Lavender would always either ignore her or try to get her to let them style her hair, not engage her in a round of insults immediately after she woke up. Since she was never in the best mood upon waking begin with, she wasn’t sure how she would stand being their roommate if they kept it up for the whole year. Lucretia had just breezed in, had not even been surprised at Druella’s behavior… It was very similar to how she remembered Pansy Parkinson behaving; perhaps it was just something that Slytherin girls did? She was not very pleased with her new sleeping arrangements. It sure wasn't easy being green.

After she’d finished getting ready, she left the bathroom to find that Druella and Noelle had both left. Lucretia was standing by her desk shuffling around a stack of textbooks. She looked up and smiled when Hermione entered.

“Ready for another day?”

Hermione sighed as she sat down on her bed again. “I suppose.”

“It’s going to be a long one,” Lucretia said, slipping some of her books into her shoulder bag. “Potions with the Gryffindors, Arithmancy, History of Magic with that horrible Professor we told you about, Defense with your cousin, and Astronomy after dinner. Not to mention Alphard’s ‘big plan’ that you’ve got to implement.”

Hermione groaned and let herself fall back into the mattress. Being an undercover time-traveler on a secret mission and a full time student was a _lot_ of work. “Can’t I just go back to bed?” She whimpered.

“Not a morning person, are we?” Lucretia said wryly.

“Nope.” Hermione forced herself to sit up again and grabbed her school bag from the foot of her bed. “It doesn’t help that I honestly have no idea where to start with Alphard’s ‘plan’.”

Essentially she was going to declare war on Tom Riddle and his Knights. She would stand up to them, thereby making a bold statement that they couldn’t push her or anyone else around. It would invite backlash and potentially put her in danger, but it was also the quickest and easiest way Alphard saw for her to gain respect and security within Slytherin House. It seemed like a decent plan, it just scared a part of Hermione witless, and if she hadn’t felt as if her honor as a secret Gryffindor were on the line, she might not have been able to do it.  

Lucretia looked at her for a minute, her head slightly tilted to the side. “Pride,” she finally said, before slinging her bag over her shoulder and starting to walk towards the door.

“Huh?”

The other girl paused and turned, smiling slightly. “You want to piss them off, right? For quickest results, attack their pride.” She said it as if it was the simplest thing in the world.

Hermione blinked.  “Well, how should I do that?”

Lucretia smirked. It was probably the first time Hermione had seen such an expression on the usually polite girl’s face. “I’m sure you’ll figure it out. I can’t give you _all_ the answers, now can I?” Without another word, she turned and breezed out of the room. Hermione quickly grabbed her bag and followed.

The two girls left the Slytherin dormitory and made their way to the Great Hall, where they joined Alphard, Des, and Byron for breakfast. Conversation was light, but Hermione noticed a strange tension between them. Perhaps it was caused by the anticipation of the situation Hermione was about to create.

The first class of the day, Potions, passed uneventfully. They didn’t brew anything, but walked around the room in pairs and identified different potions. Slughorn seemed rather taken with her already, praising her excessively and granting ten points to Slytherin when she’d turned in her and Lucretia’s answers. Much to her chagrin, she noticed that Tom Riddle was awarded fifteen points for the same feat, but she just had to grit her teeth and let it go.

Lucretia was taking Arithmancy, thankfully, as were Orpheus Lovegood, Fleance Potter, and Euphemia Fawley. She and Lucretia claimed the table next to Fleance and Orpheus, and Euphemia sat in front of them with another Gryffindor girl, who introduced herself as Violetta Brown. Of _course_ Tom Riddle was there; he sat with Emmett Lestrange in the back of the classroom. Orion Black was taking the class too; he sat next to a Ravenclaw Boy.  

Since her allies in the room outnumbered her enemies, she decided that before class started would be as good a time as any to start “attacking their pride”. After whispering with Lucretia to confirm that the Ravenclaw would present no problems, she decided to go for Orion, since he was on the opposite side of the room from Tom and Emmett.

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, reminding herself that this was _necessary_ , according to Alphard, that she had to start playing their games if she ever wanted to be accepted as one of them, if she didn’t want to be eaten alive. Besides, these adolescent “Knights” paled in comparison to the adult Death Eaters she’d faced in her own day. Faced, survived, escaped, and even defeated. And most importantly, underneath her green tie, her heart was still that of a Gryffindor. She would have courage and conviction.

With an encouraging nod from Lucretia, Hermione stood up and sauntered over to Orion’s table. She stood with her arms crossed and angled herself so that she cast a shadow over his parchment. The Ravenclaw hardly gave her a moment's glance before turning back to a conversation with one of his housemates. When Orion looked up, a dark frown marred his features.

“ _You_ again,” he spat. “And to what do I owe this displeasure?”

“I’ve come for an apology,” she said, smiling sweetly.

Orion’s eyes widened and he blinked incredulously. “You have?”

Hermione nodded. Orion watched her for a second, his eyebrows furrowed. “Get on with it, then,” he said after a moment.

Her hand flew to her chest as she feigned surprise, making her eyes and mouth round. “Oh, sweet Circe, no—I didn’t mean that _I_ was going to apologize. I meant that I would give the opportunity to _you_!” What was the best way to attack his pride? Get him to swallow it!

Orion slammed the hand holding his quill loudly down onto the table. “ _Excuse_ me?”

“You heard me,” Hermione said, smirking. “I expect an apology for the way you behaved yesterday.”

Orion glowered. “And why the _hell_ should I do that?” His vehement tone caused a few nearby students to glance at them curiously, including his Ravenclaw seating partner.

Hermione fluttered her eyelashes and said coyly, “Well that’s generally what people do when they’re wrong.”

“I—You—Wha—” Orion’s face had grown flushed. He pointed a slightly shaking finger at her. “You have some nerve, you know that? Just _what_ is your problem?”

“My problem?” Hermione finally decided to drop the innocent act. She raised one eyebrow and crossed her arms in front of her chest. “My problem is when spoiled brats like you try to act as if they’re in charge of everything and everyone. You can't just start telling people how to live their lives, Black. And you certainly don't get to decide what they're worth.”

Orion just blinked up at her, his mouth opening and closing a few times, rather like a fish.

“Who the hell _are_ you?” he finally sputtered.

Hermione smiled slightly. This pathetic little rich boy had _no idea_. She was Hermione Jean Granger, proud Muggle born witch, Gryffindor at heart, best friend of Harry Potter, the brains of the Golden Trio, bookworm, social activist, and now history-changing time traveler. “I am unlike any girl you've ever met,” she said, drawing out her words for emphasis. “Don't make assumptions, Black, or you're going to regret it.”

He didn’t have time to make a reply, as just then, Professor Hyperion entered the classroom and called for them to take their seats. Hermione returned to her spot next to Lucretia with a spring in her step. The blonde girl caught her eye and raised one of her eyebrows slightly. Hermione grinned.

Lucretia nodded and then pulled out a scrap of parchment, quickly scribbling a note before passing it over to Hermione: _Good job. Now get ready for the backlash._

Hermione read the message and then tucked it away under her notes. She figured she’d deal with that later. Instead, she focused on absorbing Professor Hyperion’s lecture, happily working out the Arithmancy problems he gave to them. She couldn’t stop smiling to herself. This was the first time she’d gone into a situation with the intent to challenge one of Riddle’s crew, and she had to say, it’d been a lot more successful than she would have anticipated. Orion had been completely caught off guard, and she’d cut him down. Since he’d been part of the reason she’d made an enemy of Tom Riddle, she couldn’t help but feel a bit of spiteful glee at beating him at his own game.

She put the finishing touches on the final calculation and set her quill down, sitting back to admire the work. She really _did_ love solving a good Arithmancy problem: the slow, meticulous steps you had to take to work through the mess, complicating and calculating and finally simplifying until the problem you were trying to sort out became one concise, simple, clean answer...

Suddenly out of the corner of her eye she saw a ripple moving through the air towards her. Before she could react, it collided with her inkwell, upsetting it and spilling its contents all over the desk. She watched in stricken horror as her parchment soaked up the thick dark puddle, ruining her entire class’ worth of work. _Again_.

She twisted around in her seat just in time to see a smirking Orion pocket his wand before picking up his quill and returning to his own calculations. Her hands balled into tight fists, but she managed to quell an indignant vocal outburst.

Lucretia put a gentle hand on Hermione’s shoulder and gave her a firm look, shaking her head slightly. “Not here. Not now,” she said softly. “It’s just a little ink, anyway.”

Hermione nodded, but her lips were pressed tightly together. That was easy for Lucretia to say; miraculously, not a single drop of the ink had made its way to Lucretia’s half of the desk, and her work was still neat and spotless. Upon reflection, it wasn’t that surprising; it had been her twin brother’s prank that caused the accident, so it made sense she’d been spared.

After Arithmancy, they had lunch, and then History of Magic. Unfortunately, Emmett Lestrange sat behind her and decided to mimic Orion’s prank from that morning. Of course she’d cast a small shield charm on her inkwell, but Lucretia also had ink sitting out on their desk. While she’d been focused on staying engaged with Professor Binn’s dreary lectures, her seat partner’s inkwell was upset by Lestrange’s spell, drowning both her and Lucretia’s carefully written notes on the Giant Wars. Hermione shot Lestrange a dirty glare, and he sneered. This time, Lucretia muttered abuses under her breath along with Hermione.

Her last class before dinner was Defense Against the Dark Arts. Perhaps it was because the teacher was her “cousin”, or perhaps Riddle and his friends were just too caught up in the class, but they didn’t make any other moves against her. Instead, they all enjoyed a breakneck-paced review of previous material for their upcoming O.W.L.s, as Electra insisted they do it quickly so they could move on to the “fun” stuff.

At dinner, she quietly related the events of the day to Alphard, Des, and Byron. Des and Byron offered sympathy, and Des suggested she should try backing off before things went too far, but Alphard was encouraging:

“It just means you’re actually _getting_ to them, Hermione!” He beamed at her. Then he furrowed his brow slightly and added, “Still, don’t let them push you off the Astronomy tower tonight, yeah?”

Thankfully, they didn’t try anything of the sort, and after the late-night class, Hermione returned to her dorm relatively unscathed. Before she allowed herself to collapse into her bed after the exhausting day, she enchanted each and every one of her spare parchments to only accept ink that was delivered from her quills. As an afterthought, she applied the same spell to all her textbooks; she was determined not to let those bastards get the best of her.

The next morning when she got to Ancient Runes, she made a point to loudly and enthusiastically greet Myrtle as if they were the dearest of friends, and Myrtle responded ecstatically. Then, seeing the sour expression on Orion’s face, she decided to up the ante and started asking Myrtle about her muggle childhood, acting supremely interested when she described her old maths and science lessons.

Hermione’s diligence from the previous night paid off; during their work time after the lecture, Orion predictably tried the same move again. She had purposely left her inkwell unshielded so that she would be able to show off her new defense method, and she got to send him a rather satisfying smirk as she lifted up her notes from the pooling ink and showed them to be unblemished. The look of angry shock on his features was very gratifying.

Then an oblivious Myrtle accidentally set her sleeve in the puddle of ink and yelped loudly, upsetting the quiet of the classroom and earning her a dark look from the professor. Hermione did her best to clean the girl’s robes while whispering apologies. She then passed a note to the other girl that briefly explained what was going on. After reading it, Myrtle gaped at her, before hastily scribbling a reply:

_Please don’t do this on my account! I’m not worth it, you’ll only get hurt!_

_Of course you are, don’t be silly_ , she wrote back. _And it’s not just about you. This is about everyone they think they can bully. I won’t stand for it, and neither should anyone else_.

She’d passed it back to Myrtle and was not really expecting a reply when another folded note flew over her shoulder and landed on top of her paper. She glanced behind her, but Orion was staring out the window, still visibly fuming, and Riddle was seemingly absorbed in his work. She turned back to the note and tentatively unfolded it to reveal a neat, elegant script:

_Kudos on protecting your parchment, but this isn't over. That isn't a threat, I just know my friends. I could stop it now, I'd just need some small things in return. -TMR_

She scowled, and flipped the parchment over, where she scribbled her reply:

_I'm not going to negotiate terms of surrender, Riddle. I’m not the sort to cry over spilt ink._

She folded the note and set it on the floor, stealthily jerking her fingers to send it sliding backwards under his table with a bit of wandless magic.

His reply was quick:

_So this is war now? The greatest victory is that which requires no battle._

Hermione recognized it as Sun Tsu. What was _Riddle_ doing, quoting muggle authors at _her_? Well, two could play at that game.

 _If you know the enemy and know yourself, you need not fear the results of a hundred battles,_ she replied.

_And why are you so sure that you know me, Miss Temple?_

She was unable to reply as the bell rang and they were dismissed. And really, that was a relief, because what would she have said? “Oh, I’m from the future and know that you’re a sadistic megalomaniac”? Because that would have gone over well.

The three-in-a-row ink attack made her realize that they weren’t waiting for her to make any moves against them to continue going after her; this wasn’t chess, apparently. So she tried to keep herself mentally prepared for the next move. Unfortunately, concentrating on both Riddle’s gang and her classwork proved to be difficult, and she would find herself forgetting one in favor of the other, only to realize it and snap her attention back again.

In Herbology, they were pruning pots of Devil’s Snare, so the evil boys had to concentrate on not being strangled, and didn’t have time to mess with her. It was in Charms class that they next struck. They'd been practicing Engorgement and Shrinking Charms on canaries; Hermione and Lucretia had each enlarged and shrunk the yellow bird on their desk once successfully, and Hermione was taking her second turn.

She flourished her wand and said clearly, “ _Engorgio_!”

Just as she was completing the incantation, she lurched backwards as her seat toppled to the ground, with her still in it. As she fell, the spell burst from her wand and flew wildly off course. She couldn't help but screech loudly as the entire world turned around her. And then just as suddenly as the fall had begun, it ended. Her back collided harshly with the hard stone floors, hitting the ground with so much force that the wind was momentarily knocked out of her lungs.

Unfortunately, the chaos did not end there; her spell had hit Professor Trill, causing his nose to swell up to a third the size of his whole face. He yelled loudly as the class dissolved into chaos, some people gawking at the professor, some pointing and snickering at the fallen Hermione as she dazedly blinked up at their faces. Irritatingly, her pride smarted even more than her back.

Lucretia offered a hand and silently helped pull Hermione into a standing position, cocking an eyebrow in a question. Hermione shrugged and nodded before turning her attention to their professor, who was in the process of trying to regain control of his classroom.

“This was a very—incredibly irresponsible move!” Trill sputtered, still trying to locate his wand to shrink his nose. He was having difficulties because he'd dropped it somewhere on the floor and his newly pronounced nose was making it difficult to see what was under him. “If I ever find out who did it, I’ll have fifty points from their house! And a month's worth of detention!”

His swollen nose also muffled his voice so that his threats sounded rather ridiculous in his current state, and the whole class’ fits of laughter only grew louder. Of course, then _Riddle_ stepped up and said smoothly, “Allow me, Professor,” before pointing his wand at their teacher’s nose and muttering, “ _Reducio_ ,” which quickly achieved its desired results.

“Erm, yes—thank you, Mr. Riddle, er, ten points to Slytherin…” The man was rubbing his hand over his shrunken nose, frowning slightly. “And, er, Miss Temple, are you alright then?”

“I’m fine,” she replied, forcing herself to smile.

Professor Trill did not look convinced. “Are you sure? Perhaps you should go to the Hospital Wing—”

“I really am alright, Professor,” Hermione said earnestly. She would _not_ give them the satisfaction of hurting her enough to send her to the infirmary! Even if her back did twinge uncomfortably every time she shifted her upper body…

After order had been restored and her chair repaired, class resumed, but Hermione was now hyper-paranoid about her seat suddenly giving out. To appease this new fear, she inched forward until she was perched on the very front of the seat, so that her feet were planted on the ground with most of her weight on them. That way, if she started to fall again, she could easily catch herself. It was uncomfortable to half-sit, half-stand like that for the rest of class, but her peace of mind was worth it.

In their transfiguration class under the watchful eye of Albus Dumbledore, nothing happened, aside from occasionally catching the smug glances of Black and Lestrange. But the soreness in her back that flared up every time she moved about was enough of a reminder not to get comfortable. The moment they were dismissed, she bid Lucretia farewell and made her way straight to the library to look up a defense for the Knight’s newest trick.

While she would be able to easily cast an effective shield charm as she’d done with her inkwell, spelling something as big as her chair before the start of every class would be completely impractical. She recalled coming across a spell to temporarily improve one’s sense of balance, back in her original time at Hogwarts. If she could find a written description of the spell’s theory, she thought she might be able to adapt it to suit her needs.

She soon came across a problem in that the text she read about it in was an encyclopedia of physical charm advancements that wouldn’t be published until the seventies. She did remember that the spell originated in the thirties, she just wasn’t sure who the creator was. After a fruitless half hour of flipping through books of medical magic, she gave up on her stubborn search and described what she was looking for to the librarian, who was able to point her in the right direction. Once she found what she was looking for, it didn’t take very long to read up on it.

It took her a few different tries, but she eventually found that by extending the magical field of the spell, both herself and her chair would remain balanced and upright should a leg unexpectedly disappear. After casting it successfully a few times, she made her way down to the Great Hall and managed to catch the tail end of dinner. When Lestrange sneered at her, she found it in herself to smile genially back as she thought of what his face would look like if he tried his prank again and saw she’d outwitted him once more. She actually almost _hoped_ one of them would try a repeat performance in class tomorrow.

It was to her utmost pleasure that the balancing charm’s effects were confirmed during their Thursday morning Arithmancy class. She wasn’t even sure at what point Orion had vanished her chair leg again, as she’d been contentedly working out her Arithmancy problems and hadn’t felt so much as a shift underneath her. Instead, she was able to laugh heartily when she moved to pack up her things and saw she’d been sitting on not three, not two, but _one_ chair leg for most of class.

But after she’d outsmarted them once again, she knew with certainty they would be up to something else before long; they were almost _too_ predictable. She kept herself alert, and ended up paying more attention to her classmates than her classes themselves. She did her best to keep an eye on all four of the fifth year boys. Even though it was only Lestrange and Black who were actually doing anything to her, she wasn’t certain they wouldn’t get Nott in on the act, and when _wasn’t_ there a reason to be suspicious of Tom Riddle? She could have gone a lifetime without witnessing Thaddeus Nott pick his nose and wipe it on the back of a chair, though.

This constant vigilance was worth it; midway through History of Magic, Emmett Lestrange shot another spell at her from under his table. Hermione didn’t even waste time trying to identify it; she just casually waved her own wand, which she’d been keeping ready in her hand, and deflected the spell, sending it whizzing over the rest of the class’ heads and out the open window.

Grinning at the victory, she threw a wink in Lestrange’s direction. He looked like he was mouthing the words to another curse when Riddle, his seating partner, crossed his legs so that they were blocking Lestrange’s wand. Riddle caught her eye and gave her a significant look, as if he were expecting some sort of gratitude from her. She scowled at him and turned away.

Nothing happened for the rest of that day, or during their Friday classes. When the weekend came, she decided that she needed a break from all the drama of her first week and sequestered herself in the Head’s Common room. There, she finally found the time to work on writing her translation of the old Latin book that had started her feud with Riddle in this timeline. Minerva and some of her Gryffindor friends were around, and proved themselves to be rather pleasant company.

Alas, the reprieve was not to last, and as she was heading to Ancient Runes on Monday morning, Orion pulled the oldest trick in the book and shot a severing charm at her bag strap, sending its contents spilling across the hall.

“ _Really_ , Black, _diffindo_ at my school bag?” She hissed as he walked past her, smirking. “You’re really running short on ideas, aren’t you?”

Still, she’d had to stop and collect her possessions, and then mend her bag. By the time that was all sorted, the bell had already rung and she walked into class late. When she entered, Professor Finley, who’d already begun his lecture, gave her a dark glare.

“I got lost,” she said quickly, refusing to meet the teacher’s eyes.

“I see. While I understand that you are new to the castle, I would hope that in the future you are able to swallow your pride and ask for directions, rather than interrupt my class. Five points from Slytherin.”

Hermione mumbled a soft, “Sorry, Sir,” and then made her way towards the back of the room and her seat next to Myrtle. She felt the eyes of everyone in the class on her as she slid into her seat. What a way to start a Monday.

When she heard audible snickers from behind her, Hermione scowled. They were just _so_ pleased with themselves. She’d _had it_ . She slowly and deliberately withdrew her wand from her robe pocket and pointed it at her bag on the floor. Twisting her chair slightly so that her actions would be clearly visible to the pair of _obnoxious_ boys behind her, she pelted her newly-mended school bag with every single protection and warding charm she could think of, many more than something as insignificant as a shoulder bag should warrant.

 Finally, she was satisfied that her simple bag could withstand everything short of an assault by Fiendfyre. Her shoulders released a bit of their tension as she pocketed her wand, shifting her attention to the lecture. She’d missed part of the lesson due to being late, and even more when she’d been enchanting her bag, so she had to scramble to catch up in her notes.

They were given half an hour at the end of class to get started on their translations for next time. The room was filled with the scratch of quills on parchment and the occasional groan at the difficulty of the problems.

“Hey, Hermione,” Myrtle whispered after a while. “Have you gotten to number seven yet? This combination of runes is weird...”

Hermione leaned over squinted at Myrtle’s parchment. “I’m still working on six,” she said, “But I think I’ve seen something about that combination from somewhere…” She pursed her lips for a moment. “You know what? It was mentioned in a footnote of a reference manual, I think, but I can’t remember what it said. The library has a few copies, though. I’ll go check it out at lunch and then get back to you, ok?”

“Oh, what’s the book?” Myrtle asked a bit too loudly, her eyes glinting with excitement. “I might have to go look for myself! I thought I’d read all the library’s rune books.”

“Lockley. The fourth edition, I think,” Hermione murmured. “And it’s sort of bothering me that I can’t remember,” she admitted sheepishly. “So I’d like a look, too. How about we go check it out during lunch?”

“That sounds good! I know the book you’re talking about,” Myrtle said, beaming. “Honestly, Lockley puts _all_ the important information in footnotes. I’m not surprised you’ve forgotten some.”

“Yeah, he’d probably be better off writing a separate book based wholly on his footnotes!” Myrtle giggled, and Hermione grinned, feeling a certain giddiness at finally finding someone who was as much of a nerd about Ancient Runes as she was, and being able to share jokes that no one else would find funny.

Of course, then Professor Finley came over and told them off for disrupting class, taking five points from Ravenclaw and Slytherin.

“Nice going, Temple, you’ve cost Slytherin ten points in one class period!” Orion sneered at her as they were walking out the door. “And yet you still walk around like you’re some kind of virtuous wonder child. Have you no shame?”

“The first five points were _your_ fault,” she snapped back, “so forgive me if I don’t feel too badly.” Besides, what did _she_ care if Slytherin won the House Cup? It’s not as if it were _really_ her house.

Their next class was Herbology, which was sweaty and dirty, but otherwise uneventful. At the end of class Hermione told Lucretia where she was going, and then tried to make her way to Myrtle through the crowd of students jostling their way to the door. Through the chaos, she heard a familiar loud yelp, and a second later saw Myrtle fall down, sprawling across the greenhouse floor. The Ravenclaws who passed her just ignored the fallen girl; one of them, who Hermione thought might have been the infamous Olive Hornby, actually went out of her way to make it worse. She deliberately set her heel down on Myrtle's glasses, which had fallen off, and shattered one of the lenses, before cackling viciously and following the rest of the class outside. Frowning when she saw that their classmates were more inclined to laughing at the girl's misery than to being decent humans, Hermione made her way over.

“Here,” she said, offering a hand to Myrtle, who took it with shaking hands. As she pulled the dark-haired girl up, she saw a few tears glinting in her eyes. Hermione bent down and retrieved the broken glasses. She held out her wand and performed one of the very first spells she’d ever done as a witch: “ _Oculus Reparo_.”

She handed the glasses back to Myrtle, who smiled gratefully, albeit a bit morosely still, as she put them on.

“Are you alright?”

Myrtle nodded. “Yes, this happens all the time. You get…used to it.” She worried her bottom lip with her teeth for a second before adding, “Usually no one bothers to help, except maybe Orpheus, and only when he actually notices.”

“I’d gathered,” Hermione said darkly, thinking of how the girl’s own housemates had just walked right by her. “Who pushed you, did you see?”

“I think it was Lestrange.”

“Bastard,” Hermione muttered, glaring at the door that he’d exited long ago. Apparently the jerk had a habit of knocking over innocent girls in the greenhouse. After a moment, she sighed and looked back at Myrtle. “Anyway, if you’re alright, then let’s head to the library.”

The act of bullying was all but forgotten as the pair returned to the castle and then walked through the corridors towards the library, discussing Runes and classes and life in general, avoiding the subject of their mean-spirited, bullying peers. By the time the reached their destination, they were both in good moods. They made their way over to the Ancient Runes section, chattering happily. But when Hermione’s eyes sought out the place where Lockley’s reference manuals were usually kept, she was met with the sight of a large gap in the shelves.

“That’s strange,” Myrtle said, frowning at the empty space. “Every copy of Lockley is gone, even the older ones. That’s what, four large and dry books that are essentially the same? What are the odds that people in this school would suddenly have an interest in him on the very day that we want to check him out?”

“Oh, I don’t think a sudden zeal for Ancient Runes is to blame for this,” Hermione said hotly. She’d remembered just _who_ was sitting behind her when she’d mentioned her plans to get this book. “This has Black and Riddle written all over it!”

“You think?”

“Well, every single practical joke they pull, I find a way to counter. It was only a matter of time before they moved to mind games.” Hermione gritted her teeth, and then shook her head. “But it’s not going to work,” she declared, turning her back on the tauntingly-empty bookshelf and striding out of the library. “They can only keep reference materials for a week or the librarian will go after them. I’ll just wait them out!”

Myrtle followed behind her, frowning. “What about our homework?” she asked, a bit of anxiety tinging her voice.

“We can ask Finley about that problem at the start of class, it’ll be fine,” Hermione said firmly.

Myrtle sighed but agreed, and the pair walked off to the Great Hall for lunch. Hermione quietly related the most recent events to Alphard. When she finished, he was grinning at her.

“They’ve changed tactics, don’t you see? They’re losing, and they know it!”

“Is… Is that really what this means?” Hermione asked uncertainly. They didn’t _seem_ close to admitting any sort of defeat.

“Of course!” Alphard reached out and patted her hand reassuringly. “They’re not _that_ creative. You just have to outlast them. Just wait and see. It’s all working out!”

Des paused her bickering with Avery to give Alphard an incredulous look. “Seriously, Black?” She hissed. “Hermione’s had her property damaged, her schoolwork ruined, been physically injured, and now they’ve decided to play mental games. Don’t you think this is going too far?”

“Nonsense, Des, we’ve got them right where we want them!” Alphard said, frowning at her. He then looked back at Hermione, throwing her another one of his overly-charming grins. “You can handle a few juvenile pranks by some petty little boys, can’t you, love?”

Hermione rolled her eyes and agreed that she could, indeed, handle Riddle’s gang. Given the horrible things she’d experienced in her life, a few school-boy pranks were nothing she couldn’t deal with. She was much stronger than anything they could do to her. And if Alphard thought they’d admit defeat soon, then she’d trust him. She would not let them get to her…  

She’d arranged to meet up with Fleance and Septimus after classes that afternoon, but first she wanted to drop off her books in her dorm. She hurried down to the dungeons and breezed through the common room up to her dorm, barely registering the fact that Riddle was sitting with some of his gang by the fireplace. After she’d deposited her things, she turned around and left with the intent of getting to her new friends as soon as possible.

When she walked back through the common room, however, she was brought up short by the sight waiting for her. While before the Knights had been huddled close together and talking softly in front of the fire with Riddle, they were now dispersed around the room on various bits of furniture: Orion was reclined in an armchair, his feet propped up on a low table, Nott and Malfoy were seated on either end of a couch facing the entrance, and Lestrange had sprawled himself out on top of a chaise lounge. All four of them were holding up copies of Lockley’s reference and reading them in an incredibly conspicuous way.

“ _Seriously_?” She burst out, glowering at each of the four in turn. Yes, she’d known they’d taken the books she wanted, but they didn’t have to go out of their way to rub it in her face!

Orion, who was closest to her, looked up, his eyes wide with feigned innocence. “Oh, good afternoon, Miss Temple,” he said sweetly. “May we help you with something?”

“Just how melodramatic do you have to _be_ to do something like this!” she fumed, pointing to the book his his hands. “It’s ridiculous!”

“Do what?” He glanced down at the book and then back up to her, grinning smugly. “A bit of light reading to supplement our class material?”

Hermione put her hands on her hips, glaring menacingly. “The others aren’t even _in_ Ancient Runes!”

“Malfoy is, he’s just a year above us,” Orion said, smirking as he uncrossed and recrossed his legs.  Hermione glanced at the blond in question, who met her eyes for a second before looking back down at his copy of the book, still pretending to read. Nott had set the book down and was watching the events unfold, an expression of avid interest on his face. Riddle himself was still in his original seat, looking unbothered and flipping through an entirely different book.      

“And are you saying that we can’t be interested in a field that we aren’t currently taking a class in?” Lestrange chimed in, propping himself up on his elbow and fixing her with a sneer.

Orion snorted and then smirked wider. “Yes, Temple, isn’t that attitude a little bit exclusionary? I thought you were all about sharing everything with _anyone_ who wants it.”

“Don’t _tell_ me that the virtuous Hermione Temple would deny others access to learning, when she’s _so_ supportive of sharing wizarding knowledge with muggle spawn!” Emmett said, grinning.

Hermione clenched her fists so tightly they shook slightly. She couldn't let them win! She had to do _something_! But it wasn’t as if she could whip out her wand and hex them right then and there, not when it was five against one.  

“You’re behaving like a bunch of first years!” She finally spat before turning and storming out of the room, laughter echoing behind her. Screw waiting it out, she had to come up with something even better to do to get back at them! Go on the offensive, show them that she wasn’t to be trifled with—

“Miss Temple.”

Hermione froze as that _obnoxiously_ smooth voice called from behind her. She spun around, glaring at him darkly. “Yes _, Riddle?”_

The evil git was walking towards her, looking at her with an expression of mild amusement, which only served to piss her off even more. In his hand he held a copy of the Lockley book.

“I came to see if I might be able to offer you some… assistance,” he said, coming to a stop as he stood in front of her, an innocent smile on his face. He could pull off the fake innocence thing a lot better than Orion did.

Hermione scowled, setting her hands on her hips. Did he think she’d just accept _his_ ‘assistance’? “Are you insane?” She spat. “How dare you just come up and say that, after the things you’ve done—”

“Miss Temple, what have I ever done to you?” Riddle said, having the audacity to look affronted.

Hermione scoffed. “Are you kidding me? You and your little club of _dementors_ have been trying to make my life miserable all week! The ink—”

“Was Orion’s idea, and then taken up by Emmett,” Riddle interrupted.

Hermione frowned. That was actually true, darn it. Still, Riddle was a villain! “Well in any case, vanishing my chair leg in Charms was incredibly cruel—”

Riddle cut her off with a wave of his hand. “That was Emmett. Loud, dramatic disruptions are really more his style than mine, anyhow.”

She scowled. “Fine, then. Splitting my bag—”

Riddle shook his head. “Was Orion. As was the whole elaborate plot involving this book, which I would be _more_ than happy to hand over to you, as well as make my friends ease up on their… pranks, so long as you apologize for your disrespectful words and return to me my rightful property.”

Hermione glared at him. “What _property_? I haven't taken anything—”

“The very first day we met, Miss. Temple. I’m sure you remember,” he said with exaggerated patience, as if he were explaining something to a small child. “I said I wanted that book we found in the bookstore, and I intend to have it.”   

And he was back on _that_ ; it was finally time to employ her diversionary tactics. “Wait, you’re still hung up on that old thing?” she said, trying to sound dismissive. “Well, I hate to break it to you, but I no longer have it.”

Riddle continued to regard her with a neutral expression. “And might I inquire as to what you have done with it?” His voice was still polite, but there was now the slightest edge to it.

“I gave it to my cousin as a present, and she left it at home,” Hermione said, shrugging. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize you’d still want it.”

Riddle pursed his lips for a long moment as he studied her intensely. She just blinked back at him, doing her best to avoid fidgeting or otherwise appearing deceitful. “I see,” he finally said, his voice short. “That’s a shame.”

Hermione shrugged again. “Sorry. And as I doubt there's anything else I can do for you,” she added, taking half a step back. “I really should be on my way.”  

Riddle regarded her for another moment before holding the Runes book out towards her “Still. Nott can’t even read this, why don’t you take it?”

She stared at him. “What, just like that?”

Riddle shrugged. “Just like that.” He glanced down at the book once more and remarked, “You know, it’s interesting. You said you were looking for the fourth edition, but the third edition only came out two years ago. There hasn't’ been time for a fourth yet.”

“Oh, really? I must have mixed it up with another reference,” Hermione replied, forcing a smile. That’s right, the fourth edition had been released in the sixties; she’d apparently made a time-travel mistake. “Silly me.”   

Riddle smiled back, tightly. “Indeed. Anyway, are you going to take it, then?”

Hermione hesitated for a second, but then shook her head. “No, thank you,” she replied. She wasn’t about to take something that Riddle offered her; she doubted it would come without a price. All of his actions were suspect at this point.

Riddle raised one eyebrow at her. “Are you sure, Miss Temple?”

“Very sure, Riddle. Now if you’ll excuse me.” She turned and walked away quickly, not giving him a chance to say anything else.

If she were honest, her conversation with Riddle left her feeling more unsettled than anything his followers had done to her up to that point. While his minions were being just as nasty and evil as she’d expected, most of her interactions with the future Dark Lord himself had been nothing but polite. Even when he did become threatening, it was not nearly to the extent she knew he was capable of. Instead of making her relax, his attitude, which bordered on… pleasant, made her even more uneasy than him being sinister might. Who knew what he was plotting behind his genial facade?

When she met up with Fleance and Septimus, she was happy to be able to share what had been happening to her without having it immediately analyzed, and over analyzed, by the other Slytherins. The boys just offered her sympathy, and verbally bashed her tormentors on her behalf. Nice and relaxing, just what she needed. She stayed with them for most of the evening, only breaking for dinner. She completed her own homework and then tried to help Septimus with his Runes; as he’d said on the first night, he was abysmal, there was no other way of putting it. The pair’s lighthearted jokes lifted her spirits, and she managed to return to the Slytherin Common Room that night with a smile on her face.

The next morning, the Slytherins had potions with the Gryffindors right after breakfast. Slughorn informed them that they would begin a unit on emotion potions, starting with the Draught of Courage. Hermione paired off with Lucretia, naturally, and the two quickly gathered their ingredients and began the difficult brew.

“This is a rather complex potion,” Lucretia remarked after she’d stirred in the moonstone and set the timer; they had to wait for four and three-sevenths minutes before adding the next ingredient. “Do you really think it’ll come up on the O.W.L.s?”

“Probably,” Hermione sighed as she minced the last of the fluxweed. “They don’t make those things easy. If it’s not the practical portion, I’m sure there’ll be some theory question on it.”

“I suppose you’re right,” the other girl said. “Hey, have you finished grinding the dried nettle? I could do that while you finish with the fluxweed.”

“Oh, yeah, sure, it’s right here,” Hermione replied. She picked up the mortar and held it out to Lucretia with one hand. As Lucretia reached out to take it, the heavy stone container was suddenly knocked from Hermione’s hand by an invisible force. It flew into their cauldron and created a large splash, splattering both of their robes with drops of the unfinished potion.

“Shit! The nettle wasn’t supposed to go in yet! We had three more steps, it’ll be ruined!” Lucretia cried. She grabbed the ladle and plunged it into the cauldron, attempting to fish the spilled ingredients out.

Hermione was looking around the classroom, trying to figure out which of the _idiots_ had done it, when it suddenly occurred to her that her mortar was made out of basalt, which reacted poorly with the unstable compound of griffin claw and bubotuber pus, already present in their potion. “Lucretia, step away—”

It was too late; their cauldron suddenly boiled up and exploded, shooting much of its contents directly at Lucretia. Just in time, she dropped the ladle and pulled her arms up in a protective position, but some of the spray still managed to hit her face. The blonde girl staggered back, falling against the table behind them. The rest of the class was in a frenzy. Druella and Noelle shrieked loudly and pointed towards Lucretia while Slughorn shouted over them, trying to calm things down but making everything more hectic.

Hermione stepped over to her partner and leaned in to inspect the damage. “Lucretia? Are you ok?”

Lucretia used her sleeve to wipe some of the potion off her face before saying with a shaking voice, “Yes, I think so, but—” she paused and reached one hand up, starting to rub her eye. “Do you think it’s supposed to be stinging this much?”   

“”No! Miss Black! Stop rubbing your eyes!” Slughorn bellowed.

“But it hurts!”

Hermione grabbed Lucretia’s wrist and forced her hand away from her face. “Unstable potion in your eyes could cause blindness,” she explained. Lucretia whimpered, squeezing her eyes shut.

Slughorn reached them and put a hand on Lucretia’s shoulder, inspecting her. After a moment he declared, “She needs to go to the hospital wing at once, Miss Temple would you—”

“I’ll take her.” Orion had come up to their table and was sliding one arm around his sister’s waist.

“I can do it—” Hermione began, but Black cut her off with one of the darkest expression she’d ever seen on his features.

“You’re new here, Temple. I’d rather not have you take a wrong turn and cause my _sister_ permanent blindness!” he snapped.

Lucretia whimpered again, and Hermione noticed tears beginning to stream out of her closed eyes. “Can you two stop it for even five minutes? I just got drenched with a potion and it’s in my _eyes_!”

“Yes, Mr. Black, you should bring her to Madame Asclepia as quickly as possible,” Slughorn advised. Orion shot Hermione another dirty look before tugging at Lucretia and helping her move out of the classroom. Hermione watched them go with the tight feeling of guilt beginning to form in her throat.    

Slughorn inspected the ruined workstation and then turned to her, his brow furrowed. “Miss Temple, care to explain what happened?”

Hermione bit her lip. Should she rat out Lestrange? She was fairly sure she’d seen him pocket a wand shortly after the incident. But then, she didn't actually have any proof, only her word. And she was the new girl, what would that be worth?

“The basalt mortar slipped out of my hand and into the cauldron,” she finally lied, looking down at the floor. Curse those Knights, making her lie to her professors!

“I see. Well, I wouldn't fret, because Miss Black will more than likely make a speedy and full recovery, but _do_ be more careful in the future, Miss Temple. We wouldn't want anyone else getting hurt.”

Hermione stared at the cold slabs of stone covering the ground. “Trust me, Professor, I will.” She started to clean up the mess and put away her and Lucretia’s supplies; there would be no salvaging the potion. Perhaps Des had been right all along, she thought; perhaps this _was_ too dangerous. When they were just targeting her, that was one thing, but both Myrtle and Lucretia had gotten caught in the crossfire, and both had been hurt. There hadn't been any serious injuries yet, but Hermione figured that with the way things were escalating, it was only a matter of time.

After class was released, she made a decision and immediately sought out Alphard during the twenty minute break to discuss a change to their plan. She found him in a courtyard, talking with some of the other seventh years before heading to class.

“Alphard!” Hermione said firmly, striding up to the Head Boy and ignoring the curious looks of his friends. “We need to talk!”

Alphard frowned at her. “Hermione? What’s wrong?”

“Your _cousin_ just went to the Hospital Wing because of _them_!” She said, glaring at him. “This is getting out of hand!”

Alphard’s eyes widened. “Lucretia?” Hermione nodded, scowling, and Alphard’s breath hitched in surprise. He grabbed her arm, pulling her across the courtyard away from his friends, before looking at her.“Ok, erm—Is she alright?”

Hermione shrugged. “Slughorn thinks she will be, but _still_ ! It could have been much worse! This _plan_ isn’t working!”

“Ok. Right.” Alphard closed his eyes and ran one hand through his hair, before taking a deep breath and saying, “So. We’ll talk. But not right now.” He glanced over his shoulder, where his other friends were watching the pair, before continuing, “I’ve got to get to class, and so do you. What’s your last class today, Defense?” Hermione nodded. “Right. So afterwards, meet me down in the dungeons by the tapestry of Stephen the Strange. It’s past the potions corridor, do you know how to get there?”

Hermione furrowed her brow. “Yes, but what’s wrong with your Common Room?”

Alphard glanced around and shifted his weight. “Minerva will be there. And there are some things I’d rather discuss alone. Alright?”

“Fine. See you then.” He bid her farewell and walked away, rejoining his friends as they headed off to their class. She watched his retreating form with narrowed yes. What was up with him all of the sudden? He was acting shifty and odd. Well, she’d just wait until she met with him later, and find out what was going on, as well as give him a piece of her mind.

With that done, she made her way through the rest of her classes. Orion was back for Arithmancy, shooting her one of his customary angry glares, but Lucretia didn't return from the Hospital Wing. Hermione was almost tempted to go ask Orion for an update, but she figured he'd just scoff at her request and be generally unpleasant, so she decided she would go to the Hospital Wing herself after talking with Alphard.

The one upside to all of this was that the Knights themselves seemed divided over this prank; after lunch, she saw Orion and Lestrange having a heated conversation in a side corridor. Orion kept jabbing Lestrange in the chest with his wand, while Lestrange rolled his eyes and attempted to shove him away. Hermione guessed that Orion wasn’t too happy about Lestrange nearly blinding his sister.

Classes that afternoon seemed to drag on and on as Hermione nervously anticipated what her conversation with Alphard might bring. Would he be mad she wanted to stop? Certainly when his own cousin had been hurt he would see sense. But if he refused to help her fix this, she figured her next step would be talking to Des. Des, she knew, would support her and tell her what to do.

Finally the bell rang at the end of Defense. As Hermione was hurrying to the door, Electra called out to her, beckoning her over to her desk.

“You alright, Hermione?” she asked. “You seem a bit distracted.”

“Yes, I’m fine!” Hermione huffed, glancing at the door. She was going to be late!

Electra continued to peer at her intensely. “How’d your friend Miss Black end up in the Hospital Wing today?”

“Potions accident.”

Electra piqued one of her dark brows. “I see. And was this accident completely accidental?”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Not in the least—but Electra, may I please fill you in on everything later? I’m going to talk to Alphard now, we’re changing up the plan.”

Electra stared at her for a long moment, frowning. Then she nodded. “Ok, then. Why don’t we talk after dinner?”

“Great! See you later!” Hermione didn’t wait for Electra to say goodbye before rushing out of the classroom and hurrying towards the dungeons. The Defense classroom was only on the first floor, so it didn’t take long for her to reach the tapestry where Alphard had said he’d meet her. Much to her annoyance, he wasn’t there yet.

She leaned against the wall and closed her eyes, tapping her fingers against her arm as she waited impatiently. She’d nearly ran down the corridors trying to get there on time, and he had the nerve to be late! It was rather rude. Honestly, he was behaving so oddly today, what with asking her to meet in the back of the dungeons and then not being there… Perhaps he’d been held up in class, like she’d been with Electra. Yes, he’d really been nothing but kind and helpful to her since they’d met on the train, he deserved the benefit of the doubt…

“Well, well, well. Look who it is.” A chilling voice rang out through the corridor, pulling her from her thoughts. She opened her eyes and saw Orion and Lestrange standing in front of her, their arms crossed. Orion was glaring, and Lestrange was grinning like the cat who'd just caught a canary.

Hermione scowled at them. “Shove off, you two. I’m not in the mood.”

Lestrange tisked, shaking his head, still smiling wickedly. “My, my, Miss Temple. A week of seeing what we can do to you, and you still haven't learned proper respect?”

Hermione scoffed. “Wait, was spilling my ink and ripping my bag supposed to _intimidate_ me? You _really_ have to try harder! Your little ‘plots’ are exceedingly juvenile. What's next, telling everyone I have cooties and pulling my pigtails on the playground?”

Lestrange frowned, his thick eyebrows knitting together in confusion. “The what?”

She rolled her eyes. She’d forgotten, pureblood bigots. “It's a muggle thing. Perhaps if you’d ever ventured outside the gates of your prissy pureblood manors and bothered to learn about people who are the slightest bit different from you, you'd understand.”

“And just how do you know so much about Muggles, then?” Lestrange asked, eyeing her suspiciously.

“Um, I’m not a racist arsehole? You’d be surprised what you can learn about people when you’re not too busy trying to convince yourself you’re superior to them.”

“Salazar, she’s just getting more and more mouthy!” Lestrange exclaimed, looking at her in distaste. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his wand, pointing it at her. “Care to reconsider any of what you’ve just said, Temple?” he growled at her; it was probably supposed to be menacing. “If not, then perhaps we _will_ ‘try harder’ to teach you a much-needed lesson...”

Hermione hesitated. A large part of her was tempted to dare Lestrange to do his worst; she was sure that she’d be more than a match for him, or even the two of them. She’d spent two whole months training with Electra, not to mention the years of experience she’d had fighting with dark wizards. Besting these two teenaged Death Eaters in a duel would be easy enough, but the logical part of her brain was reminding her that it would be a very bad thing in the long run if she rose to their challenge and dueled them in the middle of the corridor. For one thing, the noise of the duel would likely get them caught. For another, showing off the full extent of her skills to Tom Riddle’s minions was a bad idea if she ever hoped to get to a place where he wasn’t overly suspicious of her.

But she’d be damned if she apologized for “disrespecting” them! “Look, Lestrange, why don’t you stop wasting both of our time and run on back to Riddle? Because, trust me, you really don’t want this to come to blows.”

Lestrange snarled at her. “Confident, are we?”

“Please, I could take down the likes of you in my sleep—”

Orion, who’d been had been silently watching up until now, interrupted her. “Stay away from Lucretia.”

Hermione turned her head to gawk at him. “Excuse me?”

“Stay away from my sister. She shouldn’t have any part in this, and being friends with _you_ is going to get her hurt.”

“Last time I checked, whom your sister is and is not friends with wasn’t your decision to make.”

“Look, Temple, I’m not messing around! She could have been seriously hurt today—”

“Yeah, because of  _your_ buddy Lestrange!” she snapped, pointing at the bully in question. “Why don’t you tell _him_ to lay off?”

“Emmett’s part in this is beside the point,” Orion said cooly. “When she gets out of the Hospital Wing, you’ll thank her for all her help but say that from now on you’ll do things on your own. I’m her brother, so if I say she has to stop doing something then she does—”

Hermione pulled her wand out of her pocket and cast a nonverbal _silencio_ at him, stopping his speech. “Hey, Black? Kindly fuck off, thanks!”  

“Bitch!” A jet of blue light tore out of Lestrange’s wand, hitting her in the chest and knocking her backwards before she had time to react. As she flew through the corridor and landed in a heap on the ground, she registered that he’d just performed a nonverbal _flipendo_ , and a powerful one at that. She hadn’t expected them to be so proficient with nonverbal spells in only their fifth year.

She scrambled up as quickly as she could and immediately cast a silvery shield in front of herself. As soon as it was up, it was bombarded with a flurry of spells from both boys’ wands, quick flashes of green, red, yellow, purple, and blue that caused her shield to shimmer and warp. She recognized most of the standard dueling spells they learned in class, but there were a few darker curses thrown into the mix, no doubt learned from their “Lord”. While their casting speed was impressive, they lacked sufficient power and precision to effectively break down her shield, which gave her enough time to gather her strength for a counter attack.

The two boys paused their onslaught for a moment to inspect their progress. Hermione took that opportunity to grin nastily at them and start to cast her own stream of curses. She kept the nature of her spells pretty generic for a few reasons; one, she didn’t want to risk getting caught casting dark curses at her classmates, and two, it was much too early to tip her hand and show that what she was _really_ capable of. Instead, she focused on combining their spells in a strategic way to wear them out as quickly as possible.

They hurriedly waved their wands to deflect her curses, their eyes wide with surprise; clearly they hadn’t expected her to put up a fight after their attack. They were standing close enough to each other for her to effectively target them both. She managed to hit Lestrange in the gut with a _rictumsempra_ before Black cast a shield large enough for the both of them.

“Two against one, Temple. These odds are not looking promising!” Black sneered at her as Lestrange tried to cast the countercurse between bursts of laughter.  

“You’re right, perhaps I should let you run and grab Malfoy or Nott, then things might be a little more even!” Hermione shot back, her words accompanied by three silent _reductos,_ each aimed at a weak point in their shield. Much to her delight, it shattered, leaving them open once more.

But now they’d changed strategies, spreading out to make it harder for her to focus on both of them. She was forced to go back on the defensive as Lestrange stalked towards her, pelting her shield with _reducto_ after _reducto_ , while Orion stood further back and sent more varied and creative curses into the fray. She kept casting quick but weak _flipendo_ s at the grimly determined Lestrange and managed to knock him back a few feet at a time, but he was still getting too close for her comfort. As she gathered the power for a spell that would _really_ send him flying, Orion shot a _diffindo_ through a hole in her shield. The side of her arm erupted in pain as it was sliced open, and blood started to pour from the wound. She clenched her jaw, trying to overcome the stinging pain.

Their one lucky hit was enough to turn the tide of the battle. Though she managed to keep her shields up, her energy was quickly fading as more and more blood spilled from the gash in her arm, staining her sleeves and dripping onto the floor. As much as she would have loved to humiliatingly defeat them, she realized she couldn’t do that without dipping into some of the darker curses she was familiar with, which she couldn’t. So she had to leave, now. She started backing up slowly towards the opposite end of the corridor. If she could reach the Slytherin common room through one of the side corridors, she could take shelter in the girl’s dormitories and heal her arm…  

Orion saw her retreat and smirked. “Running away so soon?” he jeered, sending another curse at her head. “What’s the matter? Is the pace of a duel too much for your poor little bleeding heart?”

Hermione didn’t reply; she quickly scrambled backwards, still parrying their curses and focusing on getting away from them. When she had almost reached the end of the corridor, she decided to make a break for it and turned, sprinting down the corridor.

 _“Deligo Talum!”_ Lestrange shouted after her.

A moment later, her ankle was pulled out from under her by a chord of light shot from Lestrange’s wand. She fell to the ground and landed on her injured arm, and was unable to stifle a scream of pain.

“Admit it, Temple.” Lestrange said, coming to stand over her and gloat. “You’ve messed with the wrong men. We’re stronger than you, faster than you, better than you—”

She swung her wand up to point at him. “ _Fulmino_!” she yelled, summoning a bolt of lightning from her wand and hitting him straight in chest.

He was thrown backwards in an impressive arc, shouting as he made rough contact with the ground.

“Oh, you’ve done it now!” Orion pointed his wand at her and started moving it in a complex pattern, muttering under his breath.

Hermione’s eyes grew wide as she recognized the spell— _comprimo pulmonem_ , the suffocation curse. It was a curse not typically used by respectable wizards, let alone a schoolboy. She quickly lifted her wand and started to cast her strongest shield, hoping to finish it before Orion completed his curse.

Suddenly the air rippled out of the corner of her eye and another figure faded into view, stepping in between her and Orion. Tom Riddle raised his wand and sent a quick stinging hex at Orion’s wand arm. Orion gasped, in pain and surprise, and he lost his hold on the half-formed suffocation curse. It burst from his wand and traveled through the air, hitting Riddle square in the chest. Riddle doubled over and collapsed to the ground.

“ _Children! What is the meaning of this!_ ”

Hermione’s vision was swimming slightly, probably due to the loss of blood and the energy she’d just put into the duel, but she could make out three familiar figures standing at the other end of the corridor. Slughorn, who’d shouted, flanked by Electra and Alphard.

“Tom! Tom, are you alright?” The potions master frantically rushed down the corridor to Riddle’s side, helping the fallen boy sit up. Electra followed behind him, an unreadable mask on her face. Alphard was staring at Riddle, his mouth fallen open. Lestrange was using the wall to help himself stand up, and Orion had half-lowered his wand and was looking around, blinking confusedly.

Riddle groaned as he pulled himself into a sitting position. “I’ll be alright, Professor, it’s not too bad. The effects are already lifting.”

“That was very brave of you, Mr. Riddle,” Electra said as she knelt next to Hermione and began to inspect her arm. “Mr. Black was casting a very dark curse. If he’d managed to complete it, you probably would not be breathing right now.”

“Really?” Riddle’s eyes grew round and he looked up at Orion. “How could you cast such a curse Orion? On an innocent girl, no less! Where would you even learn such a thing?”

Now that he’d assured himself that his favorite student was still breathing, Slughorn stood up and crossed his arms, fixing Orion with a harsh glare. “Yes, Mr. Black, your behavior today has been completely irresponsible! How could you possibly think it permissible to attack your classmates, and with violent curses, too? Why, if Mr. Riddle hadn’t courageously stepped in, you could have killed the poor dear!”

“Us, kill her?” Lestrange stepped over to the group and pointed an accusing finger at Hermione. “Did you miss the part where she almost electrocuted me?”

“Self-defense!” Hermione snapped back. “You guys attacked—” Electra harshly prodded Hermione’s wound, causing her to hiss loudly and glare at her “cousin”.

Electra unapologetically raised an eyebrow at her. “Sorry, dear. You need to go to the Hospital Wing, I think,” she said, standing up. Electra looked at Slughorn, and shook her head. “I think what we have here is a standard case of teenagers being unable to properly deal with disagreements, wouldn’t you say? They’re all good students, so I’m guessing it probably had to do with academic rivalry.”

“Oh, naturally, naturally,” Slughorn nodded. “Still, dueling isn’t a healthy way to solve problems! I say two weeks detention for the three of them. What say you, Electra?”

“The _three_ of us?” Hermione gawked at the portly professor indignantly. “They started it!”

Slughorn frowned at her. “Still, m’dear, you should have come and gotten a professor. Hurling lightning bolts is not very ladylike!”

Hermione looked at Electra, but the other witch just shook her head warningly. “Detention would be good for them,” she said, looking back at her colleague. “Hermione can do it with you, Horace, and the boys can do it with me. Fair?”

“Yes, quite. Now that that’s settled, Tom, m’boy, you should get to the Hospital Wing,” Slughorn said, helping Riddle stand up. The professor glanced at Lestrange, who was leaning against the wall and occasionally twitching. “You, too, Lestrange.”

Electra pulled Hermione up by her uninjured arm. She tried to slide her arm around Hermione’s waist to help her walk, but Hermione shoved her off. “I can still walk!” Electra rolled her eyes.

Riddle was in worse shape than she was, evidently, and had to rely on Slughorn to help him move down the corridor. Orion finally snapped himself out of his stupor and moved to assist Lestrange.

As they started to make slow progress, Slughorn began talking again. “But poor judgement on the part of some aside, that really _was_ quite the chivalrous act of bravery, Tom! Why, you could put a Gryffindor to shame! I say that deserves no less than fifty points to Slytherin, how do you like that?” Hermione saw Tom smirk slightly before it turned into a grimace. “And let’s not forget you, Alphard!” the professor continued, turning to beam at the boy who was following the group with a dazed expression on his face, “If you hadn’t come and warned Electra of the fight, well then, who knows where we would be—even if you were mistaken about Tom being an attacker. Ten points to Slytherin!”

“Oh, _really_? Why thank you, Alphard,” Hermione said, glaring at the Head Boy. Apparently, she’d been set up.

 


	12. Détente

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I started this, I had dreams of being that perfect fanfic writer who never misses an update, but here we are, three months since my last update, and the only one I can promise until late August. Pretty much I spent all of April scrambling to keep up with school stuff, and then when I got home, I started working a full time job, so between that and family obligations, I haven't had the time. And now I'll be going to Italy for six weeks to do archaeology, but am leaving behind my laptop, so won't be able to write. (excuses, excuses... he he)
> 
> Anyway I have a couple more things to say, but I'll leave that until after the chapter. Enjoy!

The group slowly and silently made their way to the Hospital Wing, their walk occasionally punctuated by a gasp or a groan from Riddle or Lestrange. After what seemed like ages, they reached the Hospital Wing. Most of the beds were empty, but one near the far end of the room had a curtain drawn around it. Riddle, Lestrange, and Hermione were immediately given over to the care of Madame Asclepia, the strict and elderly Healer. When Slughorn explained how they’d gotten their injuries, the Matron shook her head and clucked disapprovingly.  

“Hebe help them! What would posses children to go after each other like that? And their own Housemates, too!”

Hermione’s injury was easy enough for the woman to clean and mend with a couple of quick spells, after which she was given a blood replenishing potion and instructed to go lie down for half an hour. The potion, which tasted of sour milk, made her dizzy, so she accepted Electra’s assistance to steady her as she walked over to a cot in the corner near the door.  

Alphard had been awkwardly hovering at the edges of the room, and now followed the two women, standing at the end of Hermione’s bed while she settled in. When she was finished, he opened his mouth and started to speak, but Hermione cut him off.

“How _dare_ you!” she hissed, glowering at him. “I could have been killed!”

“Listen, Hermione, I—”

“I don’t want to hear it!” she snapped. “You callous, selfish, lying, scheming son-of-a—”

“Hey!” Electra snapped her fingers in front of Hermione’s face to get her attention. “Now is not the time! And as we learned this afternoon…” Her eyes swiveled to Alphard. “Timing is everything.”

Alphard dropped his head and gazed at the floor. “Look, I’m… sorry, I—”

“Can explain yourself later when Hermione gets out of the Hospital Wing,” Electra said coolly, crossing her arms.

Alphard looked between the two stony-faced witches for a moment before nodding and taking a step back. “You’ll come meet me in the Head’s Common room, right?” he asked, glancing at Hermione.

“Sure. Unless you want to set up another ambush in the dungeons, that is,” Hermione said, curling her lips.

Alphard sighed, his eyes falling closed. “My common room is fine. See you then.” He glanced over at Riddle, and then turned and left the wing.

Once he’d gone, Electra summoned a chair from across the room and sank down, breathing out heavily. She looked at Hermione for a long minute, frowning slightly but not speaking.

“I suppose you’re going to say, ‘I told you so’?” Hermione asked glumly after a moment, letting her head fall back against the thin infirmary pillows.  

“Well, I wasn’t going to rub it in, no,” Electra replied, still watching Hermione closely. “I am wondering how you’re taking this. Aside from your righteous fury at Alphard, I mean.”

Hermione sighed and let her eyes slip closed. “I don’t know,” she admitted. “I guess I’m kicking myself. I should have seen it coming, you know? After he went on and on about using people—about using me! And he was so happy every time things got worse. How dense _am_ I?”

Hermione stiffened as she felt a warm hand gently brush some hair out of her face. “Not dense, just… trusting,” Electra said softly. “You look for the best in people, Hermione, and that’s not a bad thing. However…” the other witch withdrew her hand and Hermione cracked one eye open. Electra was now gazing across the room towards where the Healer was casting diagnostic spells on Riddle, who was enduring her attentions with a blank countenance. “Given the circumstances, you can’t forget to see the worst in people as well.”

“Hogwarts seems like too small of a school to be hosting more than one evil mastermind at a time,” Hermione muttered, propping herself up so she could glare across the room at the young man who would one day slaughter thousands of innocents, but had just taken a dark curse for her after she’d done nothing but try to piss him off. _Clearly_ he’d had an angle.

Electra cracked a small smile. “I wouldn’t put Alphard Black on quite the same level,” she said. “He’s not evil, just… selfish and determined. And anyway, if _he’d_ been driving that scheme, it wouldn’t have failed.”   

“It was a stupid scheme, too!” Hermione grumbled. Getting Orion and Lestrange to attack her in the hallway? “What was Alphard even trying to do?”

“Turn me against Riddle by having him hurt my cousin,” Electra said, shrugging. “And had everything been as he thought it was, it might have worked. But he underestimated Riddle’s intelligence, I think, and _you_ paid the price.”

“What a jerk,” Hermione muttered, clenching her fists and glaring at the wall.

“I completely agree,” Electra said, nodding. “But setting that aside, we come to a more serious question: what now?”

Hermione looked back at her. “What do you mean?”

Electra leaned in close and said quietly, “I mean that you’re going to have to go over there and thank your ‘saviour’ while pretending you don’t see right through him. You’re going to have to learn to coexist with Orion Black and Emmett Lestrange, because you can _not_ spend the year getting into violent duels in obscure corridors. _And_ you’re going to have to find it in yourself to forgive Alphard Black, because you can not risk making him an enemy, and if you do the first two things without maintaining your relationship with him, then that’s exactly what’ll happen.”

“Oh.” So by following Alphard’s scheme, she’d made _more_ work for herself in this already arduous time-travel adventure. Lovely.

“Yep.” Electra smiled bitterly. “So, any ideas?”

Hermione frowned. “Wait, don’t you have any?”

Electra raised one eyebrow. “None that I’ll offer up front,” she said, cryptic as ever.

“Fine then,” Hermione sighed, letting herself fall into the pillow once more and closing her eyes. How could she de-escalate things with Orion and Lestrange? She could always swallow her pride and tell them they were right, but there was only so far she was willing to take that; she doubted they’d believe she’d been sincere while she still was friendly with Myrtle—and she was _not_ going to abandon Myrtle. The poor girl had so many disappointments in her life, Hermione wasn’t going to revoke her friendship just to appease a couple of bigoted jerks! And then there was Riddle. Somehow, she had to make nice with him, too…

Riddle had offered his “assistance” twice before, and she’d turned him down based on her principals rather than on strategy. If she put those things aside and struck some sort of deal with him, he could tell all his minions to back off. And given that she couldn’t trust Alphard, letting Riddle think she was willing to trust him might just be her best option to move forward with her and Electra’s plan. That plan had to come first, and whatever Alphard wanted to do should not interfere with that. Finally, she opened her eyes and looked at Electra again. “I think I know what I have to do.”

“And what would that be?”

She looked over at Riddle. Madame Asclepia had finally finished and moved on to tend to Lestrange, and now Slughorn was sitting next to his bed, chattering incessantly. Riddle turned towards her and they locked gazes. He gave her one of his charming smiles, and she had to look away, ashamed of the decision she had made. “Make a deal with the devil.”

To her surprise, Electra nodded. “While I don’t think that establishing a cordial relationship with him is quite _that_ dramatic of a move, you’re thinking in the right direction. You'll be in a much better position to monitor him if you're not constantly reinforcing a need for him to watch his back around you, and it solves the problem with the Knights as well.”

Hermione frowned at her. “Well then why didn’t you just _say_ that?”

“Because if the suggestion came from me, you’d have resisted it,” Electra said, rolling her eyes. “Now the only one you can blame is yourself.”

“Gee, thanks,” Hermione muttered, glaring up at the ceiling. After a second she added, “Also, thanks for detention. Why couldn’t I do it with you?”

“Because, _cousin dear_ , then people might accuse me playing favorites.”

Hermione crossed her arms. “Hpmh. So now I’m stuck with Professor ‘come-to-my-dinner-parties, lightning-bolts-aren’t-ladylike’ for two weeks, scraping burned bug guts out of cauldrons or something gross like that.”

Electra smiled slyly. “I can make the boys’ punishment even worse, if that’d make you feel better,” she said. “I mean, I was going to make them write ‘bullying is bad’ a thousand times each, but I could also tell them to clean out the storage room connected to my office. I’m pretty sure more than one small animal has been born, lived, and/or died in there.”

Hermione wrinkled her nose. “That’s disgusting.”

The other witch chuckled. “Quite. So, the perfect detention, then.”

Hermione hummed in response, before the two of them lapsed into an uncomfortable silence. They both sat, glancing around the room and at each other for a long moment before Electra let out a long sigh. “Well, if that’s all… I do have some work I should do.”

Hermione grimaced. “Don’t let me keep you. It’s not as if I’m actually that injured.”

Electra looked at her, furrowing her brow  “Are you sure? You’ll really be alright with… You-know-who?” She glanced over at Riddle again, who was now ignoring Slughorn completely and staring intently at the pair of them. Hermione scowled. What a creep.

“I’ll be fine,” she replied, trying to ignore the rising apprehension in her gut as she thought about what she was about to do. “You go on. You’re the one with an actual job.”

“Alright, dear. Er… I think I have a pretty clear idea about what’s been going on, but if you’d just like to… talk, after you see Alphard, my door’s always open to you,” Electra said, standing up slowly.

“I’ll… keep that in mind,” Hermione replied, looking away. The display of genuine concern from Electra made her uncomfortable, especially since they were in public and her reaction to it could be scrutinized by others.

“Right. Ok… good luck.” Electra gave her one last smile before departing, leaving Hermione to face the other occupants of the Hospital Wing. Across the room, Lestrange was loudly complaining about the aftertaste of a potion, while Orion leaned against the wall next to his bed and stared at the ceiling. Madame Asclepia had disappeared behind the curtain of the occupied bed, while Slughorn had seen Electra departing and hurried after her. Riddle reclined in his bed, propped up against the wall with his hands behind his head, still staring at Hermione.

When he noticed her looking, he tilted his head and reached one hand out, beckoning for her to come. She narrowed her eyes, and then pointedly looked at Orion and Lestrange, who were only a few beds away from him. She wasn’t about to have _that_ conversation with _those two_ listening in. Riddle followed her gaze and then looked back at her, nodding his head slightly before relaxing back into his pillows and closing his eyes.

Soon Madame Asclepia emerged from behind the curtained bed, spreading the white cloth open to reveal the inhabitant of the room. Lucretia was there, sitting up with her feet swung over the side of the bed. Her hair was mussed and her clothes disheveled. She was blinking rapidly, and reached one hand up towards her eye before stopping and moving it away. When she looked up and caught sight of Hermione, her eyes grew wide and she gasped.

“You’re free to leave now, Miss Black, but I want you back first thing tomorrow morning to re-apply the eye drops!” Madame Asclepia said, helping Lucretia stand up.

“Thank you, Madame,” Lucretia said, still staring at Hermione. “I’ll be sure to do that.”

“Lucretia!” Orion pushed himself away from the wall and strode over to his sister’s side. “How are you feeling? How are your eyes?”

Lucretia looked at her brother, and then at Riddle and Lestrange in their hospital beds, and then at Hermione again. As she took them all in, her expression morphed into a frown. “Well _I’m_ fine now,” she finally said with a note of suspicion in her voice. “But what are _you_ all doing in here?”

“They’ve been dueling in the corridors!” The Healer snapped, glaring sharply at Orion. “With dark magic! Of all the dangerous, uncivilized things to do!” she said, shaking her head some more before starting to walk in Hermione’s direction.

“ _Dark_ magic?” Lucretia’s brows shot up as she stared at her brother. “In the _corridor_?”

Orion winced and looked down at the floor. “It’s not what it sounds like.”

Madame Asclepia came to stand at Hermione’s bedside and placed one hand on her forehead. “How are you feeling, Miss Temple?”

Hermione looked away from the twins, who had started to have a quiet and heated conversation, and met the eyes of the concerned nurse. “Much better, thank you,” she said, forcing herself to smile.

“No dizziness, lingering pain?”

Hermione shook her head. “None.”

“Very good.” The woman flicked her wand and summoned a glass of water, which she handed to Hermione. “Drink this and give it ten more minutes, and then you’re free to leave.”

Hermione accepted the water and took a sip. The Matron smiled and then left her bedside, returning to Riddle and Lestrange. Lucretia had bidden Orion to collect her belongings from her bedside and was approaching Hermione’s corner. Hermione set her glass down on the table and gave her a tight smile.

“How are you doing?” she asked when the other girl was close enough to talk comfortably.

“Well I can't say it's been the most enjoyable day. For either of us, it appears,” Lucretia said, raising one of her brows. “You’re alright, yes? My idiot brother didn’t do too much damage?”

Hermione shook her head. “Just a cut on my arm. I’m fine now.”

Lucretia glanced over to where Orion was still gathering her possessions, and then said quietly. “What were you doing in that hallway?”

Hermione pressed her lips together tightly and stared straight ahead for a moment before saying shortly. “Alphard told me to meet him there.”

“Oh.”

“Yes.”

Lucretia pursed her lips and nodded slowly. “I suspected as much,” she said after a moment, “but I honestly thought that after last time, he’d be more careful with this sort of thing.”

Hermione frowned. “Last time?”

Lucretia’s expression turned grim. “Ask Alphard. If he won’t tell you, ask Des.”

“Hmmm.” Once again, Hermione’s anger at Alphard started to rise up in her chest. Was setting people up for his own selfish schemes a pattern with the boy?

“Lucretia!” Orion was walking towards them, carrying her books in one arm with her outer robe slung over the other. He was scowling, yet refused to look directly at Hermione. “Ready to go, then? We’ve got homework.”

Lucretia looked at her brother and crossed her arms. “Almost. There’s just one more thing I’d like you to do.”

Orion stopped at the foot of Hermione’s bed and let out an angry puff of air. “What?”

Lucretia pointed at Hermione. “Apologize.”

Orion’s stared at his twin, his jaw visibly clenching and unclenching. After a moment he turned his head slightly, so that he was staring at the wall next to Hermione’s head. “Sorry.”  

Hermione scowled, not appeased in the _least_. “Ok then.”

Lucretia rolled her eyes and muttered, “ _Boys_.” Then she smiled at Hermione and said a quick farewell before making her way out of the Hospital Wing. Orion threw Hermione one last contemptuous scowl before following her.

After they left, she lay on the bed and fidgeted impatiently, waiting to be allowed to leave. After about five minutes, Madame Asclepia allowed Lestrange to get up and go to dinner. He sneered at Hermione as he left. The healer came over to make sure Hermione had drunk all her water, and Hermione crossed her arms.

“Why didn’t Lestrange have to wait around?” she demanded. “He was far more injured than I was!” The elderly woman just clicked her tongue and handed her the half-full glass.

“A young man like Mr. Lestrange is much more sturdy than a delicate creature such as yourself,” she chided. “We wouldn’t want you to faint in the hallway, would we? Now be a good girl and drink up!”

Right. On top of all the blood purity, there was still rampant ingrained sexism in this era. She gritted her teeth, but managed to bite her tongue to avoid engaging in what would be a pointless argument. She really couldn’t wait to get back to the nineties.

Once assuring herself that both her charges were in good condition, Madame Asclepia disappeared into her office, leaving Hermione alone with Riddle. When her ten minutes were finally over and she was free to move once more, she stood up and made her way across the room to Riddle’s bed. He was laying down with his eyes closed and his hands folded on his chest.

She sat down on the empty cot next to his and noticed his lips twitching slightly. She cleared her throat loudly.“So…” her voice trialed off. How should she start this?

Riddle half-opened his eyes and looked at her through his lashes. “So.”

Hermione bit her lip. Was she _really_ doing this? Riddle was watching her expectantly, so she took a deep breath and forced herself to say, “I suppose a thank you is in order.”

“Thank me for…?”

She frowned. “For stepping in the way of Black’s curse, of course.”

“Of _course_ ,” Riddle said, his voice almost a purr. “Really, I was only doing what any true gentleman would have done, but your gratitude is appreciated, all the same.”

“Right…” she watched him silently for a moment, waiting to see if he’d bring up the thing she’d clearly come over to talk about, but he seemed intent on making her ask. So she sighed again. “And, also, I thought we might revisit your… offer.”

He smirked. “Go on.”

She gritted her teeth. “You said that if I… changed the way I’ve been behaving, it would stop.”

“That’s hardly an earth-shattering revelation, Miss Temple,” he drawled. “I fail to see how I come in.”

Hermione scowled. Could he not just make this one thing easy for her? No, he couldn’t. Nothing with this man was ever going to be easy, from destroying his damnable Horcruxes to getting him to agree to help her! “You said that _you_ could make it stop,” she said, concentrating on keeping her breath deep and even so that her voice didn’t sound too short.

He gave her a falsely seraphic smile. “Did I? And how would I do that?”

With great effort, she suppressed a groan. She wanted nothing more than to snap some scathing remark at him and wipe that smug grin off his face, but she _couldn’t_ . Too much was at stake, and she had to be careful about how she handled this arrogant, conceited, yet also terrifyingly dangerous _prick_.  “I might be new here, Riddle, but it’s clear that you’re the one who’s calling the shots,” she finally said, forcing herself to keep her voice steady and serious. “If anyone can… fix my problem, it’s you.”

“You flatter me, Darling,” he said, sliding his hands behind his head and smirking. “Surely I’m nothing compared to our _magnanimous_ Head Boy Alphard. Can’t _he_ keep you from harm? Or were you, perhaps, wrong in your assessment of what allies to pick?”

Hermione’s fist clenched at her sides. She would _not_ give in to her impulsive tendencies this time; she would finish what she had set out to do. “I made a hasty decision, Mr. Riddle. A few of them, apparently. And now I find myself forced to reconsider how I’ve… comported myself.”

Riddle clicked his tongue, giving her an admonishing look. “I _did_ warn you about being disrespectful, a warning which you promptly chose to ignore. Do you expect me to pardon you just because you ask?”

“That’s what I’ve come to find out.”

Riddle regarded her for a long moment, his expression finally turning serious. “You’ve put me in a very difficult position, Miss Temple,” he said slowly. “On the one hand, you’ve relentlessly incited my friends by attacking not only their beliefs but their characters. They want nothing more than to seek due vengeance, and I hate to see them go disappointed.” Hermione wanted to roll her eyes at his fake concern for others’ feelings, but she controlled herself. At least he was no longer pretending that he _wasn’t_ in charge of his followers.

“But on the other hand, it would be a such shame if you became grievously injured as a result of their antics,” he continued. “We certainly must avoid another incident like today. And you _have_ finally come to your senses and apologized so nicely…” he cocked his head and raised an eyebrow. “Well, actually, you haven’t.”  

Hermione took a long, deep breath, and closed her eyes so she wouldn’t have to watch him gloat. “I’m… very sorry,” she forced out, her stomach twisting at her words. “I shouldn’t have said some of the things I did. Please, Mr. Riddle, can you forgive my foolishness?” She hoped her tone didn't come off as _too_ flat, lest Riddle insist on her saying it again.

“Why, Miss Temple, all you had to do was ask!” she opened her eyes and saw a wolfish grin had spread across his features. “I’m more than happy to overlook your rather tumultuous first few days here, so long as you make the appropriate corrections to your behavior.”

Hermione held up her hand. “I must make one thing clear. It was wrong of me to be so flagrantly antagonistic towards you all. However, it was also wrong of you to attempt to police my behavior. Any sort of truce between us will not work if you aren’t willing to give ground as well.”

Riddle lifted up one hand and inspected his fingernails, and replied, “That doesn’t seem an unreasonable request, as far as I’m concerned. After all, if you really do wish to consort with Mudbloods, who are we to stop you? It’s not as though it affects us, no matter what my friends seem to think. I’ll have a word with them about that.” He folded his hands again and beamed at her.

Hermione blinked, surprised and a little suspicious at his easy acquiescence to her term. He’d even understood exactly what she was referring to… Just what was he up to?

He started talking again, has voice laden with honey, “Now that all this unpleasant business has been put aside, I hope, Miss Temple, that you might once again be open to the possibility of improving our relationship. It would be a crime if two extraordinary individuals such as ourselves let some petty schoolyard drama get in the way of forming a better acquaintanceship.”

She peered into his eyes, searching for any signs of trickery or deceit. Of course she found none, he had his mask perfected, but something told her that in spite of that, he was being completely sincere. Tom Riddle _actually_ wanted to befriend her? Now that was a terrifying thought. It meant he’d decided that she was worth his time, after all, even without the Latin book in the equation. Or perhaps he suspected her of lying about not having it. Either way, she had the feeling that things between the two of them were going to be different from now on.  

Finally, she forced the corners of her lips to turn up, hoping it didn’t look too much like a grimace. “I would like that.” She would hate it.

“Excellent.” He flashed her a dazzling smile that was so bright she might _almost_ think it sincere. He looked _entirely_ too pleased with himself. It was awful. She couldn’t think of anything else to say that wouldn’t be the equivalent of small talk, and he was probably the last person she wanted to make small talk with. After a minute of uncomfortable silence, she cleared her throat and said, “well, it’s been… a pleasure, but I do have places to be.”

Riddle smiled. “Naturally. Have a pleasant evening, Miss Temple. We’ll talk soon.”

“I’ll look forward to it,” she said, forcing a tight smile and standing up. She nodded once as a farewell and turned, starting to walk away.

“Give Alphard and crew my regards, will you?” he called after her. She cringed; apparently she was far too predictable. It wasn’t good… Alphard had let her down, she now had to develop a positive relationship with _Tom Riddle_ … this whole thing was slowly getting out of hand.

But as she made her way through the corridors, she tried to put the uneasiness resulting from her conversation with Riddle out of her mind, instead letting her anger and frustration with Alphard and her current situation come welling back up. By the time she arrived at the Head’s Common room she was a fountain of righteous fury once more.

She gave the password too loudly to be discreet and stormed through the passageway the moment the tapestry had rolled up enough for her to pass. Des and Minerva were both sitting on the Slytherin green couch and watching Alphard, who was agitatedly pacing all around the room. All three of them turned at Hermione’s entrance.

“Hermione? Please tell me that you know what’s going on!” Des said, crossing her arms and glaring at Alphard. "He's been pacing and muttering ever since he got back."

Alphard was now staring at her, a stricken look on his features. "Hermione, I swear! I had no idea things would happen like that, I thought you would be safe!"

Hermione scoffed. "Bullshit."

"Safe?" Minerva frowned at Alphard. "Why wouldn't she be safe? We're at Hogwarts!"

Des looked between Alphard and Hermione, her eyes narrowing. "Alphard? What did you do?"

“He set me up!” Hermione snapped. “He sent me into an ambush by Black and Lestrange and we all ended up in the Hospital Wing!”

Minerva gaped at her boyfriend. “Alphard!”

Des glared. “You didn’t!”

Alphard closed his eyes. His shoulders slumped forward, and he almost seemed to deflate. “I...“ He shook his head and rubbed a hand over his chin. “There’s no excuse for what I did. I’m sorry.”

“Do you _never_ learn?” Des sat straight up and jabbed a finger in his direction, her voice shaking with emotion. “I told you! I told you you couldn’t outsmart him, you egotistical _idiot_! But you don’t listen, and once again one of _ours_ ended up so badly hurt they went to the Hospital Wing! What happened to protecting each other, hm? I thought we’d _agreed_ to make that our priority! I _distinctly remember_ you promising! And the next thing I know, we’re not two weeks into the term and you’re already back to your old tricks!”

“Wait, what do you mean, ‘again’?” Minerva asked, frowning. “This hasn’t happened before, has it?”

“I’m pretty sure it has,” Hermione said, curling her lips at Alphard. “Lucretia told me to ask about ‘last time’.”

Minerva looked at Alphard suspiciously. “Alphard? What are they talking about?”

Alphard winced and he held up his hands. “Please, Min, don’t be mad…”

Minerva’s eyebrows shot up. “Why do I have the sneaking suspicion that I will be?”

Alphard shifted his weight and glanced around the room, refusing to meet anyone’s eyes.

“ _Well_?” Des said after a second. “Are you going to be mature and say it yourself, or do I have to tell them?”

Alphard ran a hand through his hair and glanced around the room once more before saying hesitantly, “Well… Hermione, you might have heard this; last year there was an… incident involving Lestrange and Orion, and Potter and Weasley…”

“ _You_ set that up?” Minerva gaped at him, her face alight with shock that slowly morphed into fury. “They broke Septimus’s jaw!”

“It wasn't supposed to happen that way, honest!”

Des rolled her eyes. “Being defensive will only make this worse for you, you know. You've messed up, Alphard. Twice.”

Hermione just glared at Alphard. So, using her was just part of a larger pattern. It didn't change how she felt about it, or make him any less despicable in her eyes. “So was it worth it?” she spat. “I’m surprised you decided to burn this bridge so early, but I guess it wasn’t quite as useful to you as you thought, was it? And you might as well give up now on sucking up to Electra, because she could see _right through_ your little plot. Unlike you, however, she puts just as much stock in the methods as the result. And for all of your lying, your scheming, your betrayals—for all of that, what do you _actually_ have to show for it?”

He opened his mouth to speak, but she talked over him. “ _No_ , I’ll tell you what you’ve ended up with!” Alphard stared at her, eyes wide and sorrowful, but it did nothing to move her. In that moment, she had absolutely no guilt about what she had to say. She crossed her arms and gave Alphard a look _daring_ him to object. “I made a deal with Riddle.”

Des closed her eyes and slumped back in her chair, shaking her head. Minerva gasped, taking a temporary break from glowering at her boyfriend to gape in horror at Hermione.

Alphard stared at her for a very long, tense minute. Then, just when the tension in the room was becoming suffocating, he ever so slowly nodded. “That’s…probably for the best.”

Hermione was actually taken aback by his acceptance of her admission, but she was still _very_ angry with him, so she lifted her chin and sniffed snidely. “I wasn’t asking for your approval.”

“What is the nature of this deal?” Des asked, a deep frown marring her features.

“Basically, they’ll leave me alone if I stop calling them racist bastards to their faces.”

Des’s expression relaxed a fraction. “So it’s just what I was suggesting you do from the beginning, before our _genius strategist_ intervened.”

Alphard winced again.

“Yes, I suppose so.” Hermione said coolly, her gaze lingering on the disgraced Head Boy. “Although Riddle certainly acted like he'd gotten something invaluable to him. Smug bastard,” she muttered, frowning.

Alphard closed his eyes and shook his head again, his shoulders slumped.  Then he took a deep breath and look looked back at Hermione. “Ok, this seems bad, but I think with careful and open planning we can--”

“ _What?_ We can _what_ Alphard? Avoid the Hospital Wing? Take down Riddle’s evil empire? Thanks, but no,” she said, scoffing. “I've had enough of your planning.”

“I think we all have,” Des added snappily.

Alphard looked between Hermione and Des, and then over at Minerva.

The Gryffindor witch in question was wearing one of the harshest, most unforgiving expressions Hermione had ever seen on her face, both in the current time line and the one she'd left.

“What part of this do you regret?” Her voice was soft, but it was laden with intensity. “The fact that you made these foolish, inconsiderate, reckless plans, or the fact that they failed?”

Alphard stared at his girlfriend for a moment and chewed on his bottom lip nervously. Then he said, hesitantly, “Well if I hadn't been so rushed in the end—”

Minerva silenced him with a look, her eyes blazing. “ _Get out.”_

 _“_ I — _”_

“She said to _leave_.” Des said icily, her upper lip curling. Alphard looked once more at the three furious girls in his common room before sighing and turning away, morosely exiting the room.

After he'd gone, Hermione was unable to sustain the fire of her anger and felt herself deflate. She crossed the room and sank down into the red plush couch across from Minerva and Des, who were watching her with concern.

“Are you alright?” Minerva asked, her eyebrows furrowed. “You're weren’t hurt, were you?”

“Nah, just a couple of scrapes,” she said tiredly. “Riddle actually got the worst of it.”

Des and Minerva both stared at her in shock. “ _What?_ ”

Hermione smiled thinly and gave them a short summary of what had passed that afternoon. After she’d finished, Minerva was staring at Hermione, worry etched into her features. “That’s horrible! I can’t believe Orion Black would cast a spell like that! He’s only a _fifth year_ , for Godric’s sake!”

Des was resting her chin in her hand, her eyes narrowed. “What’s more curious is why Riddle would jump in front of it. It’s _very_ unlike him to put himself in harm’s way for the sake of anyone, let alone one of his enemies.”

“Well now he looks like a hero, and I’m not that much of an enemy anymore, as far as he knows” Hermione said shrugging. “So it all worked out for him, didn’t it?”

Des nodded, her lips still pursed.

Minerva sighed loudly and shook her head. “Honestly, I can’t believe Alphard would do something like this! What am I supposed to do with him now?”

Des snorted. “Refuse to shag him for a month?”

Minerva huffed. “Well, yes, that’s a given. But how do I do this? Should I tell Septimus about his schemes? Or the others? I hate keeping secrets, but if we told them all…”

“It would be a disaster,” Des said bluntly. “It's not going to help them to know in the long run, especially since you and I, and Hermione and Lucretia, can keep an eye on our darling idiot and make sure he does not indulge his penchant for elaborate scheming any further.”

“So…. You're saying we should keep it between us?” Minerva said, frowning.

“Well, if I were in your shoes, I wouldn't tell them.”

Minerva stayed silent for a moment before turning to Hermione. “What do you think, Hermione? Should we tell our friends about Alphard’s plots?”

Her first instinct was to say that yes, when it was possible, telling the truth was always preferable to lies. Secrets could be damaging, after all. And didn’t Septimus deserve to know how and why he got hurt? However, the truth was tricky in this situation. If the Gryffindors lost their faith in Alphard they could break their little alliance apart, which would make her own life harder… And besides, what’s done was done; telling them wouldn’t _really_ do much for them other than make them angry.

“I don't think you should tell them,” she finally said.

Minerva sighed and her expression drooped a bit, but she nodded all the same. “If you both think it's for the best… Anyway. We shouldn't sit around here feeling pessimistic all night! Would you like to go down to dinner?”

“No, I think I’ll just grab something from the kitchens and then go… be by myself for a while,” Hermione said. Minerva gave her a look of concern, while Des just nodded.

“See you later, then. I’ll come by your room after curfew; I want to speak to Lucretia as well.”

“See you…”

Hermione left.

**—0—**

It was hilarious, really, how Alphard Black thought that he could actually entrap Tom. When the supposedly-intelligent Head Boy had clumsily dropped information about Hermione Temple’s location in a staged conversation right in front of the open entrance of the Common Room, Tom had almost burst out laughing. It was even worse than the time the fool had planted surveillance equipment! 

Of course it had worked quite easily on the lesser minds of Orion and Emmett; they’d sat straight up in their seats and looked at each other, and then towards the door. After Alphard’s overly loud steps had receded, they’d both stood up and started heading straight for the exit. Tom had cleared his throat, reminding them of his presence and their deference to him. 

“This is clearly a setup,” he said, frowning at them. “And I’m not terribly impressed that you were about to run right into it.” They’d looked suitably ashamed, but before they could respond he’d stood up and drew out his wand. “Still, I’m growing tired of only watching her counter your juvenile tricks. Why don’t you see if you can’t draw her into the offensive?” He wanted to see if her academic talent translated to practical dueling, and not just the simplified stuff they were able to do in class, either. What would Hermione Temple be like in a real battle? 

Lestrange and Black, still focused on their own petty revenge, hadn’t needed much convincing to participate in his experiment. They’d gone the usual route through the dungeons to corner her, while Tom had disillusioned himself and set up a few spells around the perimeter to alert him when any one else approached. After that he’d used of one of his secret routes and gotten to a vantage point behind where their duel would take place. Then, he’d sat back and waited. He found their initial banter amusing, especially the way she verbally attacked Emmett, but he’d been even more interested to see Temple’s actions once the duel had begun. He watched carefully, cataloguing every spell and tactic she employed... 

Tom had been momentarily disappointed when it appeared his followers, pathetic as they were, were on the verge of defeating this witch who’d showed so much promise. But then she’d cast that lightning spell at Emmett, and he could almost taste the sheer power of her magic crackling in the air. There really was something there, after all. Which, of course, only made him more confused, because if she were capable of such a feat, why on earth had she allowed herself to be bested by his Knights? 

Unless she’d chosen to? 

He hadn’t had the time then to fully ponder the implications of that thought as, just when Orion had begun to cast one of the darkest curses he’d been able to master, Tom had felt his warning spells gone off, and realized this brief but informative venture was about to come to an end. 

It had occurred to him how amusing it would be to watch Alphard’s reaction if whomever the Head Boy had gotten to follow him, likely Professor Temple, witnessed Tom engaged in an act of heroism. Plus, from the look of it, Orion’s curse was weakly done and wouldn’t do much damage, especially if Tom caused him to release it before it was completely finished. So he’d dispensed with his disillusionment and stepped forward, casting a weak stinging hex at the other boy’s wrist, just as Alphard Black, Electra Temple, and Slughorn turned the corner. It had been all too easy from there to turn this situation into another personal win.  

Orion’s curse hurt and he did indeed stop breathing for a few seconds, but Tom had quickly been able to break it, although he’d done his best to play up the after effects, for appearance's sake. Slughorn always  _ loved  _ to fuss over Tom, and he figured demonstrating the agony he’d saved Hermione from might win him some favor with the Temple witches as well. 

The trip to the Hospital Wing, which he would usually have found bothersome, had even been worth it, because it was there that he’d  _ finally  _ made some progress with Hermione Temple, and gotten her to agree to stop fighting his followers. Yes, watching her outwit his Knights had been informative, and, he had to admit, rather amusing at times, but there were different kinds of knowledge he would be able to gain through positive association with her. The old saying about flies, honey, and vinegar came to mind. 

The moment she’d finally been forced to admit that she needed  _ his  _ help, rather than that pathetic excuse for a Slytherin Alphard Black was a beautiful one indeed.  _ And  _ she’d had the intelligence to make a demand of her own. That was good; he was sick of dealing with idiots. Certainly she wasn’t on his level, but at least she had more sense than most of the other louts he was forced to put up with. 

The louts in question were now gathered around the table in the Room of Requirement, listening as Orion and Emmett recounted their tale. Nott was watching them, enraptured, while the three sixth years were more subdued. Cygnus did roll his eyes and shake his head once or twice, but other than that they sat quietly and absorbed the story. 

When they’d finished, murmurs of discussion broke out among the group. 

“So she’s really not anything special, then…” Cygnus muttered. 

Abraxas smirked. “I knew someone like her couldn’t beat us.” 

“If  _ Emmett  _ can best her, she’s not nearly as smart as she pretends.” Rosier said snidely.

Emmett scowled. “What’s that supposed to mean?” 

Tom cleared his throat, stopping them before another argument could develop. “If that’s the conclusion you’ve reached, then the two of you clearly weren’t paying close enough attention to your opponent.” he said, looking between Orion and Emmett reproachfully. “I observed something rather  _ odd  _ about that duel.”

Orion and Emmett exchanged glances. “What’s that, My Lord?” Orion said after a moment. 

Tom sneered at them. “I simply can’t fathom how a witch who’s spent years being educated abroad by such a… nontraditional teacher as Electra Temple could go through a real, aggressive duel without using a single spell not approved by the Hogwarts curriculum. Especially when her opponents, the ones who’ve actually studied at Hogwarts, are not paying her the same courtesy.”  

The other two boys frowned. “Well what does that mean?” Orion asked. 

Tom rolled his eyes. They were  _ so _ slow. “One of two things: either she is somehow so mundane that she managed to turn an excellent educational opportunity into nothing more than the equivalent of standard schooling,  _ or _ , more likely, she was holding back.” 

His followers started murmuring again, this time in surprise. Orion and Emmett looked at each other and then back a Tom. “But why would she hold back?” Emmett said, his brow furrowed. “Certainly you don't think she could have defeated us?” 

Tom regarded Emmett coolly. “That's exactly what I think,” he replied, enjoying the stricken expression that appeared on the proud wizard’s face. “Which is rather embarrassing on your parts, isn't it? But the better question to ask is  _ why  _ she decided to hold back. You two were certainly being aggressive enough to warrant as much damage as she could deal you. And yet, here you sit, her tormentors for the past week and a half, relatively unscathed…”

“Unscathed? She shot me with a  _ lightning bolt _ !” Emmett exclaimed indignantly. “I keep shocking people and my hair is standing on end!”  

Tom rolled his eyes. “Quit whining, it’s become tiresome. You’re  _ fine _ . But anyway,” he said, glancing around the table, “it’s become clearer than ever that Temple is hiding something, and I fully intend to find out what it is. That means the lot of  _ you  _ need to stop attempting to exact your petty vengeance,” said sternly. “At the rate you’re going, someone is going to become seriously injured, and if it’s her, I shall be most put out. It would be much more difficult to win over someone who’s been maimed by my associates, after all.”  

“What?” Emmett exclaimed, unable to contain his indignation. “But she’s horrible! We can’t just sat by and let her walk all over us!”

Tom fixed the Lestrange heir with a hard stare and waited until the imbecile’s brain caught up to his mouth and realized his mistake. After a moment, Emmett blinked and looked down at the table. 

“I mean, yes, Riddle, I understand,” he said, although Tom noticed the knuckles on his fist turning white with the tension of repressed rage. 

“Yes, I believe you do; but I want to make this absolutely clear: I will deal with Hermione Temple  _ personally  _ from now on,” he said seriously, looking at each of his followers in turn, holding Emmett’s and Orion’s gazes the longest. All of them mumbled their acquiescence. He smirked. 

Certain they would obey his command, he decided to change the subject. “Now, there’s one more matter I have to discuss tonight,” he said, grinning widely as he pulled his wand from his pocket. He fixed his gaze on Orion, who stiffened. “The curse you hit me with was  _ quite  _ poorly done,” Tom informed him, watching as his follower’s eyes grew wide. “Your wand technique was sloppy, and based on how little it affected me, I’m not convinced you correctly recited the incantations. Frankly, it was an embarrassment, and an insult to my teaching ability, which I simply can’t have.” He raised his wand, and said softly, “please, allow me to demonstrate how it should  _ really  _ be done...” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> UPDATE: The short second section at the end of this chapter from Tom's POV has been added on to what was originally published.
> 
> Anyway, thanks for reading this, sorry it took me so long. If you'd like to leave a comment letting me know what you think, that would be wonderful. Also, what do people think of Alphard now? Love him, hate him, forgive him, understand him? My beta (who loves him for some reason) is dying to know.


	13. Blind Spots

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please, let me be the first to say, "Holy shit, she's updating this fic again???" 
> 
> Yeah. I'm surprised too. But apparently after spending some time writing other things my writer's block for this fic suddenly evaporated and I was able to churn this out in only a few days. How exciting! 
> 
> Anyway, sorry for taking so long, and I can't really promise it won't happen again, since school and work and writer's block all came together to make this difficult. Perhaps I'll be able to get the next few chapters out within a few months, perhaps not. If you're still reading, thank you, and I hope you enjoy this new chapter!!!
> 
> NOTE: As of December 2, I've added a short section at the end of the previous chapter showing a bit of Tom's perspective of what happened with the duel; it's not too critical to an understanding of what's going on, so if you don't feel like going back, it's totally fine to skip it, but I think it's interesting.

Electra hadn't been joking about the birthday party.

Despite saying multiple times that such a frivolous gathering was the _last_ thing she wanted in the middle of such a stressful and important mission, the evening of September 19th, 1942 found Hermione standing awkwardly in her fake cousin’s classroom as dozens of new acquaintances congratulated her on coming of age while she pretended to be excited and graciously thanked them.

It was a nice enough party, from an objective standpoint. Electra had vanished all of the desks in her classroom to make space for the guests to mingle. She'd covered the walls with silver and green decorations to honor Hermione’s “house”, and the effect was rather beautiful, if not an obnoxious reminder of her unwanted situation. The large storage room attached to the classroom, recently cleaned out by Orion and Lestrange, now held a large buffet laden with all sorts of _hor d'oeuvres_ solicited from the house elves. Electra had enchanted a few string instruments to play softly in the background and had somehow scrounged up enough presents to fill a whole table in one corner of the room. Really, for anyone else, it _would have been_ a nice birthday party.

The only problem Hermione had was that the people attending were the _not_ her friends and this was _not_ her seventeenth birthday. But her protests had been ignored and it was too late for anything to be done about it, so she had to grin and bear it as well as she could. Electra had insisted on inviting the whole of Slytherin House from fifth year on up, as well as many members of other houses. Hermione hadn’t even met over half them, let alone knew and liked well enough to want them at her birthday, even if it was a sham. And yet, here she was, making small talk with the Hogwarts students of the forties.

Slowly but surely, she was coming to terms with the fact that this would be her life now, whether she liked it or not.

Currently she was stuck between Slughorn, who had naturally found a way to invite himself, and a pair of seventh year Ravenclaws who were asking about Electra’s “accomplishments” and quickly getting annoyed by Hermione’s purposefully vague answers. One of them was in the processes of attempting to grill her about the particulars of a spell Electra was known to have used in Greece when a loud exclamation of delight from their professor interrupted them.

“Oh, would you look at that, Tom has arrived!” Slughorn said cheerfully, gesturing towards the door. Indeed, through the crowd of shifting bodies Hermione was able to make out the increasingly-familiar head of dark hair attached to Slytherin’s most notorious Prefect. And as if tonight’s mood wasn’t already sour enough, he seemed to be heading right their way.

Hermione quickly gulped down the rest of her punch and then made a show of frowning at the empty goblet. “I’m sorry, but I need to refresh my drink. If you’ll excuse me.” Before Slughorn or the Ravenclaws could make any move to keep her there, she’d slipped away. She weaved in and out of the clusters of party-goers, keen to avoid an encounter that was sure to leave her even more on edge and frustrated than she was already.

She managed to evade him for a good twenty minutes as she flitted from conversation to conversation, trading greetings and compliments and trying to at least pretend she was having a good time, all the while hyper aware of a certain pair of dark eyes that seemed to follow her every move, but never quite managed to catch up with her as she’d move away every time he managed to get close. After she’d made the rounds and talked with nearly everyone in the room, she was actually quite thirsty, so she ducked into the side room to refill her punch.

To her surprise, it was currently empty of other occupants. She couldn’t help the slight sigh that escaped her lips when she realized that the game was finally up and she’d have to have the conversation she’d been avoiding. He’d surely not pass up the chance to corner her when she was isolated like this and lacking any new people to hide behind. And then—well, that was just it; he wouldn’t do more than simply _talk_ with her, and somehow, that made it all worse.  

After the incident in the hallway and her talk with him, things with the Knights had cooled off. Orion Black and Emmett Lestrange would still throw her a nasty look every once and awhile, but other than that, they mostly left her alone. It was their leader whose behavior now concerned her the most. For some unfathomable reason, Tom Riddle had decided that he wanted to _chat_ with her. On a _regular basis_. And even worse, all he ever wanted to talk to her about was _school_.

There were no more subtle attempts to ply her for information, no more veiled threats or derisive remarks, only discussions of their most recent lectures and homework assignments. Yesterday, he’d even offered to read over her next potions essay and give her constructive criticism, and due to what she’d promised him when they’d made their little agreement, she’d felt compelled to politely accept the offer. At first, she’d been sickened by the thought of having a casual, friendly relationship with this boy who would turn into such a vile monster to the point of being physically ill. But as it had continued, she’d found herself growing used to it. Numb, almost. She’d yet to decide which reaction was preferable.  

She still found herself waiting for it to fall apart, for him to snap. Did he know that he was slowly driving her insane with his lack of threatening behavior? she mused. Perhaps that was his intent, to turn her into a paranoid mess before doing whatever nefarious deed he truly wanted?

Well, whatever it was, he was highly unlikely to try anything in the middle of her birthday party with dozens of other people in the next room, and so while she wasn’t looking forward to this interaction _in the least_ , Hermione steeled herself for the inevitable as she refilled her goblet with the sweet red punch Electra had ordered.

The door creaked open behind her and the sound of steady footsteps reached her ears. She heard him clear his throat, quietly but nonetheless demanding attention. Forcing a neutral expression, she turned around.   

Riddle was standing a few feet away from her, smiling that chilling grin that never reached his eyes. He’d dressed up for the party, wearing pitch black dress robes that made the paleness of his skin stand out in sharp contrast. As always, his hair was perfectly styled. When he spoke, his words were wrapped in honey, although underneath she could make out sharp notes of command. “You look lovely tonight, Miss Temple.”

She plastered on the fake smile she’d been wearing for most of the evening. “Thank you, Mr. Riddle,” she replied, hoping her voice wasn’t too tight. At Electra’s urging, she’d donned an elegant champagne colored dress cut in the latest forties fashion for the evening. Her usually bushy hair was swept up into an elegant bun and adorned with a diamond comb that Lucretia had given her that morning. Since her dress didn’t have any pockets, Electra had suggested she stick her wand into her bun as well, and a simple spell ensured it could be removed without compromising her hairdo. A persistent Des had even persuaded her to do some light makeup. While Hermione did think she looked quite nice, taken altogether, she did _not_ appreciate the fact that Tom Riddle had noticed.  

“It’s quite the party,” he said, gesturing towards the other room. “Your cousin is a talented hostess.”

“Indeed she is; she’d be quite pleased to hear you say that,” Hermione responded while clenching her fist tightly around the stem of her goblet. It was all she could do not to scream at just how _mundane_ the conversation was.

He quirked an eyebrow. “And you’ve been a most diligent guest of honor, as well. You must have exchanged pleasantries with every single guest by now, even the ones whose names you can’t possibly know yet.” His tone was playfully mocking, but there was still some measure of annoyance in it as he added, “every single guest except for me.”

“I assure you, that wasn’t intentional,” she replied in a voice that was completely unconvincing to the both of them. However, he seemed to be in the mood to humor her and changed the subject.

“Are you ready for the Arithmancy exam on Monday?” he asked as he came over to stand beside her and acquire his own goblet of punch.

School. Again. She repressed a sigh and said, “I think so. And you?”

“Yes, I was reviewing what we did in class last week and I found a few places where I could use improvement, but I think all in all I understand the new material well enough…” He went on for a little bit as she smiled tightly and forced herself to listen politely.

Who knew that making small talk with the notoriously-charming Tom Riddle would turn out to be so _dull_ ? It wasn’t as if she hadn’t seen him dazzle other Slytherin girls with wit and flattery, but for some reason, he hadn’t tried to do that with her. Perhaps he realized it would have little effect. But that didn’t mean she only ever wanted to hear about his opinions on their curriculum. He was supposed to be a genius, it would be nice to have a discussion on advanced spells or magical theory with someone who could keep up… No, she didn’t, she chided herself; she’d rather not have to talk to _him_ at all.

She responded to his speech when necessary, and when she finally felt she’d fulfilled the social obligation to interact with him, she softly cleared her throat and began inching towards the door. “Well, it’s been lovely catching up, but I should probably get back out there. Electra wouldn’t be happy if she threw this wonderful party for me and I spent the whole night hiding away.”

Persistent bastard that he was, he followed her back into the main room and seemed determined to continue their conversation. “Are you looking forward to the upcoming Quidditch match?” He asked, matching her pace and remaining right next to her.

She glanced at him suspiciously. Now that wasn’t quite schoolwork related…. “Not particularly,” she said honestly. She only ever liked watching Quidditch when someone she cared about was playing, and since the match was Slytherin vs Hufflepuff, she had no attachments to any of the players. In fact, she had a mild, unspoken hope that the Slytherin team would lose, since she’d surely have the pleasure of watching Riddle’s followers sulk about it for weeks.

“Not a Quidditch fan, then?

“Not really.” She’s started weaving in and out of the crowd again, looking for someone, anyone else to talk to.

“And yet you’ll suffer through?”

She shrugged. “I can bear it, if I have no other option.” Maybe she would try to find Des and Lucretia again? They’d probably be able to get Riddle to go away.

“Oh really?” He stepped in front of her so he was suddenly blocking her path. She had to stop in her tracks to avoid walking into him. “Then perhaps I have an idea.”

She realized that he wasn’t going to let her alone without getting through whatever this was, so she resigned herself to finishing this conversation and took a sip of her punch. “Do you?”

He smirked. “Indeed. I myself am not that fond of the sport, and would rather do anything else with my Saturday morning than sit in the stands going deaf from the ruckus and watching our housemates fly back and forth across the pitch chasing balls like a pack of dogs. What say you and I _don’t_ go to the match?”

Hermione raised an eyebrow. What a strange invitation. “Are you asking me to… not go to the Quidditch game, with you?”

“I’m suggesting that you and I might find a more valuable use for our time then, and that we might find it… profitable to do something in each other’s company.”

“Profitable.”  

He shrugged. “It’s merely a suggestion. I wasn’t going to go anyway. And if you aren’t either, then we could work on an essay, or study. Or not. It’s up to you.”

“I’ll… Think about it,” she finally said. Belatedly, she added, “thank you.”

Riddle smiled in response. “You’re very welcome.” She couldn’t help but read a bit of smugness in his voice. Ugh. Yes, she was cooperating with him, but not because he was tricking her! _She_ was tricking him! She briefly wondered what it might be like to throw the rest of the punch in her goblet on his head. It would ruin his perfectly styled hair, and his horribly self-satisfied grin…

To resist the temptation, she quickly drowned the rest of her drink and then made a show of dramatically frowning into the empty goblet. “Would you look at that, I’m out of punch again. I’d better go get more. Enjoy the party!” She turned abruptly and slipped back into the crowd, and thankfully, this time, he let her go without following.

The rest of the night seemed to drag on endlessly, but eventually it grew close to curfew and people started to funnel out of the room. Prompted by a stern look from Electra, Hermione continued to play the dutiful birthday girl and tried to thank everyone for coming as they left. Finally after all the guests had gone and it was only her and Electra left, Hermione started inching towards the door to make her own exit. “Well, it is getting late, I suppose I should be getting back—”

Electra stopped her with a shake of her head. “I have something I need to show you first. It’s in my office.”

The dark-haired witch swept past Hermione and out of the room without looking back, expecting her to follow. Hermione groaned, but she didn’t see any reason not to follow her aside from simply not wanting to, and if she let herself use that as a reason, she’d never get anything done in this time period. They made their way down the hallways until they’d reached Electra’s office. Once they were inside, Electra walked over to her desk and leaned on it while Hermione stood awkwardly in the center of the room.

“Tell me, dear, how have things have been going lately? In terms of your mission, that is.”

Hermione stared at her. She wanted to talk business? It was already past curfew! After a moment of gritting her teeth, she replied, “Well enough, I suppose. The Knights of Walpurgis have backed off a bit. I think they’re afraid of getting more detentions with you. And Riddle… he’s, well, young Voldemort. But that’s nothing new.”

“What have you found out about what they’re up to? Do you have any sense of how close he is to opening the Chamber of Secrets?”

“Not really,” Hermione admitted, shrugging. “It’s not as if I can follow them around waiting for them to drop hints about their nefarious plots. Anyway I’ve been spending a lot of time with Lucretia and Des, and Myrtle Warren—”

Electra’s expression became rather severe and she cut her off. “You’re not in the forties to socialize, Hermione. There’s so much going on, at such a grand scale. The world can’t afford for you to be distracted. I need you to promise me that you’ll remain focused from now on—”

“Yes, Electra, I promise!” Hermione snapped, loudly tapping her foot to convey her impatience. After the long night of cooperating with Electra’s whims and playing the part of her happy cousin, she _really_ wasn’t in the mood for a lecture! “Look, if this all you wanted to talk about, can I go back to my dorm now?” Godric knew how desperate the situation must have been for her to actively wish to return to the Slytherin dorms, but she could only put up with Electra’s insufferable manner for so long!

“Really, Hermione?” Electra looked at her with wide, earnest eyes. “Do you swear it?”

Hermione let out an exasperated sigh. “Yeah, sure, I swear it!”

Electra set both her hands on her desk and leaned forward, staring at Hermione with an  intense fire burning in her eyes. “Do you _solemnly_ swear it?”

Hermione blinked. She hadn’t heard what she’d thought she’d heard, had she? Electra didn’t… She _couldn’t_ …

They stared at each other in silence for half a minute. Then, as she watched, Electra’s serious expression melted away as the corners of her lips slowly crept upwards, her eyes dancing with sudden mirth.

Hermione finally said, hesitantly, “You… You don’t mean…” Electra started snickering, and Hermione gaped at her, her eyebrows knitting together. “Don’t _tell_ me you’ve somehow—”

Electra’s threw back her head and closed her eyes, giving way to a full-on fit of laughter. “I've been waiting all _week_ for that one!” she said between gasps. A few tears had leaked out of the corner of her eyes and she wiped those away. Then, without any further ado, she reached into one of the many stacks of papers on her desk and pulled out an old and yellowed piece of parchment. A parchment so familiar that the sight of it caused a whole lot of emotions to well up in Hermione: nostalgia, for the times in the past that she’d used it, a touch of grief at the loss of those times, those people, and mostly, a whole lot of _relief_.

“That’s the Marauder's Map!” she said, finally matching Electra’s grin with one of her own. “You’ve gotten the Marauder's Map!”

“Happy Birthday, Hermione!” Electra said, smiling smugly and holding the map out to her.

Eagerly, Hermione stepped forward and took it. She unfolded it with one hand while fumbling to pull her wand out of her hair with the other, then setting the tip against the paper. Here she paused, looking up at Electra once more.

“Why give this to me, though?” she asked uncertainly, furrowing her brows. “Why not just keep it?” Why even tell her she had it? “With this, you could keep on eye on everyone in the castle at once. Riddle, the Knights, the other professors…” _Me_ , she added silently.

Electra shrugged. “Well, so can you. Just as easily as I could. And I don’t… I don’t need to do _everything_ , Hermione,” she said, her voice becoming quieter. “I don’t _want_ to. This thing we’re doing, it’s _us_. I want you to feel like you have a part in it. An important one, that involves your own actions and decisions . And besides…” she looked down at her desk and softly murmured, “Harry Potter probably would have wanted you to have that map.”  

Hermione silently chewed on her bottom lip for a moment before muttering a quiet, “thank you.” Then, she swallowed once and straightened her posture before declaring loudly, “I solemnly swear that I am up to no good.”

A spiderweb of black ink spread from her wand tip and spanned across the parchment, revealing the network of corridors and rooms that made up Hogwarts castle. As the map appeared, she searched it for the dots of people she knew—there was Gryffindor tower, Augusta was sitting by the fire with Ignatius Prewett and some of the other sixth years… Dumbledore was speaking with Dippet in the Headmaster’s office… Alphard was pacing around his Common Room, hopefully not plotting anything, the bastard… and there she was, “Hermione Granger” standing next to the dot labeled “Electra Temple”.

This… this was a godsend. For one thing, having the map in her pocket would help ensure that something like that fiasco of a duel from two weeks ago would not happen again; she’d be able to see any ambush coming. Because while she had her agreement with Riddle, she didn’t quite trust him or his followers not to try something like that again, deal or no deal. Plus, if and when Riddle opened the Chamber this year, she could keep an eye on Myrtle and make sure history played out differently this time. In one moment, her whole outlook on her time travel had completely flipped.

She looked up again and saw that a satisfied grin had spread across the other witch’s features. “Is this a good birthday present?”

Hermione found herself smiling back as she muttered the phrase to wipe the map. After a moment she replied slowly, “While it's still not technically my birthday… yes.”

Electra’s grin widened as she bent down and started rummaging through her desk drawers. “Not your birthday? What a shame; I guess I’ll have to enjoy this _all_ by myself, then…” her voice trailed off as she pulled out an expensive-looking bottle of firewhiskey.

Hermione raised an eyebrow and Electra winked. “I did say we’d celebrate properly, did I not?”

“That you did,” Hermione replied, shaking her head. “But you're my professor, and this is a school. Should you really be offering me alcohol?”

Electra just smirked. “I’m the cool young professor, excuse you, _and_ your legal guardian as far as this time period is concerned. Besides, you're of age now, and what Dippet doesn't know won’t hurt us,” she said as she summoned a pair of shot glasses and wandlessly directed the whiskey to pour.

“I was of age before,” Hermione pointed out.

“Still.” Electra picked up one of the glasses and moved it so the amber liquid swished around, and then held it up. “Let’s toast?” Once again, there was a strange look in her eyes. Eager, almost hopeful. And what with the… moment, or whatever it was that they'd just had over the map, Hermione didn't have the heart to turn her down.

She sighed and took a step closer to Electra’s desk and set the map down before taking up the other glass of whiskey. “What are we toasting?”

Electra beamed. “To the future!”

Hermione shrugged. “Sure. To the future.” She clinked her glass with Electra’s, meeting the witch’s dark gaze with her own. Then she tipped her head and knocked back the alcohol, wincing as it burned its way down the back of her throat. They didn't call it “fire” whiskey for nothing. The sensation was terrible, and she couldn't stop herself from starting to cough and sputter.

After she'd recovered she looked up to see Electra smirking at her from across her desk, poised as ever. “Doing alright there, dear?”

Hermione scowled. “Just fine, thank you.”

“Oh _really_? Then I suppose you'd like a bit more? This _is_ a celebration, after all,” Electra said, far too smugly for Hermione’s liking. Raising an eyebrow at the challenge, she set her empty glass down on the desk in front of Electra with an audible _clink_.

“One more couldn't hurt.” _Bring it on_.

Electra poured them both another shot before screwing the top back onto the bottle and setting it aside. Grinning impishly, she took up her glass again and gave Hermione a look that challenged her to do the same. Hermione did, and the two of them repeated their actions from earlier, although this time merely touching the rims of their glasses together without the toast before knocking them back. Hermione was better prepared for the sensation now, and so was able to appreciate the feeling of warmth the alcohol suffused through her being along with the burning in her throat.

“Nice,” Electra commented, although she was still smirking. Hermione rolled her eyes, setting the glass down.

“Maybe if someone hadn’t forced me to pretend to be underage, I’d have not lost the ability to gracefully enjoy firewhiskey,” she said.

Electra just shrugged, unrepentant. “You’ll get it back. And a comparison between us isn’t really fair, anyway; I lived in L.A., in California, for over a year, in the early 2020's. I’m not sure if you’ve ever been there or heard about it, but they can _drink_.”

Hermione could only blink in response. She was a little bit shocked that Electra had revealed more personal information about her past. She always seemed to forget that the other witch had a life before, too, which Hermione knew next to nothing about. Los Angeles was not somewhere she would picture the sophisticated, elegant British witch to be drawn to, but, then again, what did she know; Electra was always full of surprises.  

Electra sighed and flicked her wrist, cleaning out their glasses and sending them flying back to where they were stored with a single wandless spell. “I suppose that’s enough for a night, dear. I really do hope you managed to enjoy your party. Or at least endured it, and will enjoy your present instead.”

Hermione couldn’t help but smile as she gently smoothed down the crease of the Map. “I think I will, actually. Thank you.” Her gratitude was truly genuine this time, not as tinged with bitterness as it would have been before.

Electra’s beam was radiant. “You’re very welcome! Goodnight, Hermione.”

“Goodnight, Electra.” Hermione turned away, left the classroom, and started on her route back towards the dungeons, clutching her wand in one hand and the folded up Map in the other. Everything was going smoothly and she’d made it down about three turns of the corridor before the shots of firewhiskey started to hit. When her head felt like it was floating and the archway she was approaching started to sway dangerously, she admitted to herself that she was, perhaps, a _wee_ bit tipsy.

It wasn’t as if she were underage, but given how important appearances were in this time period, it simply wouldn’t do to have anyone stumble upon her in a drunken state. Since it was past curfew, there was a good chance that the Prefects would be on their rounds. This… might be a problem.

But wait! Grinning stupidly to herself, she unfolded the Marauder's Map, pointed her wand at it, and muttered, “I solemnly swear that I am up to no good.”

Before her eyes the layout of Hogwarts castle appeared again. It took her a moment to locate her dot—yes, there she was, just at the entrance to the dungeons. A second later she thanked her lucky stars that she had thought to check her route because directly in the path she would have taken was Louisa Greengrass, the seventh year female prefect from Slytherin. Hermione had yet to meet her, but from what she gathered, the girl was not good friends with Alphard and his gang. She certainly didn’t want to risk running into her while breaking curfew, and inebriated. Instead, she would just take the longer way through the back of the dungeons and avoid Greengrass. Yes, that was a good plan…

Hermione managed to creep almost silently down the stairs descending into the dungeon, still clutching the map in her hand so that she could monitor the Prefect’s movements. When she reached the bottom of the staircase, she dashed into the left hand corridor instead of going straight.

Because only the torches along the main route into the dungeon were kept lit at this hour, she was forced to perform the _lumos_ spell to light her way. As she went along, she would stop every hundred feet or so to glance at the map and make sure she was still in the clear. When she was about halfway to the common room, she looked down again and paused. Frowning, she brought her illuminated wand tip closer to the pam and inspected the dungeons carefully. Yes, she wasn’t imagining it—the dot labeled “Hermione Granger” was not in the place that she was; in fact, a further perusal revealed that she’d vanished from the map entirely!

Hermione frowned deeply. Perhaps the firewhiskey was playing tricks on her eyes? She started walking forwards again with her eyes glued to the map, waiting for her dot to reappear. Her eyes passed over the hallways of the dungeons many times, but still could not locate herself. This was unheard of! The Marauders’ Map would show wizards even when they were under polyjuice potion or travelling in their animagus form, and it wasn’t as though she was in the room of requirement or a similarly unplottable area. It was incredibly odd… somehow she’d unintentionally fooled the Marauders’ Map!

She took a turn, and then another, her footsteps echoing through the otherwise silent corridor as her mind raced to come up with a possible explanation for this phenomenon. Had she fallen victim to some sort of curse? Had the map? Or could there be something anomalous about this part of the dungeon? It wasn’t as if they’d ever paid much attention to it before, it was entirely possible Harry had never noticed people disappeared from there… Finally after she had gone down about hundred feet of hallway, her dot suddenly faded back into view, right next to the potions classroom.

She blinked a few times, waiting for it to vanish, but there it stayed, looking like it had always been there. _Absolutely bizarre_.

Feeling compelled to test at least one of her theories, she started walking slowly backwards, keeping her eyes glued to the map and her own dot. It remained present, even as she retraced the exact bits of hallway she’d been missing from before. Just what in Morgana’s name was going on with this thing?

Her backwards amble ended abruptly with her running into the section of wall that jutted out to form a stone archway; she couldn’t help but swear loudly when the sharp pain of impact splintered through her head. But it did bring her back to the reality of where she was and what she was supposed to be doing, and with a start she realized that her pursuit of her missing self had distracted her from monitoring Greengrass’ position. Hermione quickly sought the Prefect out, growing a bit distressed when she saw that Louisa had moved from the front of the dungeons. She scanned the map, and when she finally relocated the other girl, she let out a sharp gasp. Greengrass was now accompanied by another dot: Tom Riddle. And they were heading right towards her.

She took off at as fast of a jog as she dared while still being vigilant about how much noise she was making in the process. Her path led her deep into the dungeon, taking her further and further away from the safety of the common room, but no other route would let her avoid the pair of Prefects on patrol. She couldn’t let _him_ discover her like this, and he certainly couldn’t be allowed to see her with the Marauder's Map. Why on _earth_ had she agreed to don a dress without pockets? She had nowhere to hide it; the bodice was too tight for her to have it discreetly stuffed down her front, he’d surely notice and be curious. She didn’t want him to be any more curious about her and what she did…

Finally she reached a point in the hallways she didn’t recognize in the slightest, so she slowed down to catch her breath and consult the map again. She should be far away from any other people now though, right?

 _Wrong_ . Much to her surprise, Riddle and Greengrass still journeying into the heart of dungeon, going down almost the same path of the corridors she had. Louisa appeared to be a few steps in front of Riddle. But in addition to that, to her utter bafflement, three new figures had apparently left the Slytherin common room for their own midnight amble: Thaddeus Nott, Emmett Lestrange, and the sixth year Devon Rosier. What could _they_ be up to? The route they appeared to be taking would quite possibly run into her if she didn’t move quickly enough, but she was quickly running out of options of where to turn within the chilly maze of unfamiliar corridors. To top it all off, her head was starting to feel fuzzy from the alcohol.

How had things gotten so quickly out of hand?

Hermione set off again, and not a minute later she came to a dead end. There was a door at the end of the corridor, but it was firmly sealed and she did not have the time to silently open it. Another glance at the map told her that while the trio of Riddle’s followers had actually gone a different way, the pair of Prefects were getting close enough to her that it was too risky to have her wand lit. She glanced around and decided her only option was to place herself in the far corner and disillusion herself. After a last look at her lovely espionage device that showed the the others to be alarmingly close, she muttered the incantation to wipe the map, ended her _lumos_ , and then cast the spell, shivering at the the cold feeling that rippled down her body as she was rendered invisible. After that, the only thing to do was to try and quiet her breathing as much as possible while her heartbeat pounded heavily in her ears.

Not thirty seconds had passed before she heard _his_ voice echoing rather loudly through the corridors. “Come _on_ , Greengrass, who would be this far from the common room, at this time of night? It was a _rat_.”

“Rat’s don’t _swear_ , Riddle! There’s someone down here, trust me!” Louisa snapped back. “If it’s those Gryffindors trying to spy on us again, I swear I’ll have them in detention until Christmas!”

Riddle’s next comment sounded much closer. “You’re wasting time. _My_ time! In case you hadn’t noticed, our patrol ended ten minutes ago. I’d like to go to bed, wouldn’t you?” Hermione noticed that his tone was far more impatient than he usually was with his classmates other than his followers; perhaps he really was tired.

Hermione’s breath hitched as bright blue wand light spilled around the corner and the corridor was once again illuminated. Moments later, she saw the pair of them enter the very hallway she was hidden in.

Louisa was a few steps ahead of Riddle, her wand aloft and lit, her gait steady and determined. She stopped midway through the hallway, a good twenty feet from where Hermione stood. Her eyes traveled up and down the apparently empty space of the corridor, even passing over Hermione’s hiding spot a couple of times. Hermione found herself unable to breath at all.

“Well,” Riddle said from behind her. He was still wearing his dress robes from the party, although Hermione noted he’d pinned his Prefect badge back on his lapel. “We appear to have reached the end of the dungeons, and there’s no curfew breakers in sight. _Now_ may we call it a night?”

Greengrass frowned, making another searching pass of the hallway. “They could still be here, hidden somehow—”

Riddle sighed dramatically and then drew out his wand, waving it lazily at the hallway. “ _Homenum Revelio_.”

Hermione’s whole body seized up and her heart started pounding twice as fast as she prepared for her presence to be revealed, but to her surprise, Louisa’s disappointed eyes passed over her without seeing once again.

“There, are you happy now?” Riddle said dryly while stowing his wand. “Or would you like to scour every inch of the dungeon for possible rule-breakers? Keep in mind that I’d like to make it to bed sometime before dawn.”

Louisa huffed angrily, but she finally turned and started back the way they’d come. “Very _well_ , but if there are spies and we haven’t caught them, you’re taking the blame.”

“I can live with that,” Riddle muttered as Greengrass walked past him. He looked back at the hallway once more with furrowed brows. His hand slipped back into his pocket and he seemed to consider taking out his wand again, before deciding against it and turning to follow his fellow Prefect.

Once the light of Louisa’s wand had disappeared and she was alone in the pitch blackness once more, Hermione allowed her eyes to close and her head to fall back against the wall as she took some deep breaths and tried to calm herself down from the rush of being almost discovered. Why hadn’t she been found out? There’s no way Tom Riddle would have failed at casting a spell like that. Had he simply pretended to cast it for Greengrass’ benefit? Oh of course! His followers were skulking about the dungeons, too! He likely knew about it; perhaps he thought he was protecting them.

And speaking of his followers, what could they possibly be up to? After allowing a few minutes to pass in absolute silence, Hermione relit her wand and consulted the map again. When the ink diagrams finally revealed the layout of the dungeons again, she found that the trio was now gathered in front of the doorway to the Potions classroom. Now _that_ was suspicious. Were they stealing ingredients? Or brewing something dangerous and illegal? Or both? Despite what she had to chant to get the map to work, it was definitely _them_ who were up to no good on this fine night in the dungeons.

Dare she try to get closer and attempt to eavesdrop? She bit her lip as she weighed the potential threat of their actions against the increasingly strong pull of her bed and the concept of sleep. Finally, she decided that since she was already out and she was fairly confident in her ability to move silently and undetected, there wouldn’t be any harm in taking a route back that brought her towards them and seeing if she could figure out why they were there. Electra _had_ given her the map so she could keep an eye on them, hadn’t she?

She memorized the route she should take and then set off. She felt her way along the rough stone walls of the dungeon with one hand, her unlit wand and blank map in the other. Her Disillusionment charm was still in place. Going slowly and in the dark, it took her about ten minutes, but she eventually reached the hallway the boys had been in. They weren’t there, but she could see the tell-tale light of a lantern flickering from behind the Potion’s room door and the sound of voices drifting from behind it. Bickering voices.

By all means, boys, fight louder, she thought as she crept along the wall until she right next to the door. Due to the volume of their argument, she was easily able to pick up what they were saying.

“—can’t see a thing over here! Stop hogging the lantern, Rosier!” That sounded like Lestrange.

“I _told_ you to get two! This is the consequence of not following directions. Use your wand if you can’t see something.”

“I don’t take orders from the likes of _you_ —”

“Don’t be so loud,” a softer voice admonished. That one had to be Nott. “Tom won’t be happy if someone catches us.”

“Riddle will keep Greengrass away,” Rosier replied, his voice sounding more distant than before. “And everyone else should be in bed. We’ll have plenty of time to do the _homework_ he’s decided to assign us. Can’t believe he threatened to make me miss the first match...” So they were there at Riddle’s behest… But for what purpose?

“Devon and I had Quidditch practice, what’s your excuse for putting this off, Nott?” Lestrange’s question was followed by the sound of a heavy object being pushed across a stone floor and a loud grunt from one of the boys. Were they moving furniture? What would that have to do with potions?

“I, well… Don’t tell Tom, but I’ve been going to remedial Transfiguration lessons, and they take up so much of my time that I—”

Lestrange’s cruel laughter cut his associate off. “So you’ve been ignoring your duty to Riddle to spend extra time with _Dumbledore_? He’d be pissed!”

“I don’t have a choice; Professor Dumbledore doesn’t think I’ll be able to pass my O.W.L. without extra tutoring. My father would kill me if I screwed up my future like that!” Nott had moved so that it sounded as if he was right on the other side of the door. Hermione couldn’t help flinching and taking a small step back, ready to disappear into the shadows if the door was opened suddenly.

“Please! O.W.L.s won’t _matter_ to us, not when we take over the ministry and bring about our new order! That’s why we formed the Knights, isn’t it?” Hermione could tell by Lestrange’s voice that he was sneering at Nott. What an arse. She hated all the Knights on principle, of course, but that boy in particular could really use a good punch to the face one of these days. She couldn’t help grinning and snickering a bit at the thought of how pathetically Lestrange would probably react. It would be just like when she punched Malfoy in her third year, the cowardly bully…

“That’s all well and good, Emmett, but that new order’s not going to come to pass unless Riddle can achieve his goals, and right now the two of you standing around chatting is doing nothing to advance that!” Rosier’s annoyed voice sounded like it was coming from the far side of the room.

“Well sorry, but I can’t _see_ the details on the stones if they’re not properly lit up, and _you_ won’t share the lantern.” Lestrange whined.

Rosier muttered something incomprehensible in response.

Hermione frowned. Why would they be looking at the walls? After going through the trouble to break into the Potions classroom in the middle of the night, shouldn’t they be doing something nefarious and potions-related in there?  

The boys lapsed into silence so that all Hermione heard was the occasional sound of a desk or chair being moved around. She wished they’d left the door cracked, so that she could peek into the room and see what they were actually doing. It sounded like they were searching for something, but what? And why?

Just as she was getting tired of leaning against the wall and was considering heading back and calling it a night, Rosier finally spoke again. “Alright. Nott, come give me a hand with Slughorn’s desk.” She heard the scrape of the large desk being pushed around again, and then Rosier said, “I think we can call this room cleared. No one found anything?”

“There’s a bunch of graffiti on the wall next to the desks, but nothing like what we’re looking for,” Nott replied. Hermione scowled. He couldn’t be more specific about what exactly the _were_ looking for, for the benefit of any potential eavesdroppers? Quite inconsiderate if you asked her.

Rosier sighed. “I’ll mark in on the sheet… Next up for tonight is Slughorn’s office. Emmett, grab the lantern, and make sure we didn’t leave anything behind.”

“Stop ordering me around!” Lestrange snapped.

She heard the sounds of them preparing to leave the room, so she started to creep silently back down the corridor, not wanting to risk any one of them accidentally seeing through her Disillusionment. When she was perhaps twenty feet away from the door, it opened, and the three of them stepped out of it. Lestrange carried their lantern and was scowling darkly at Rosier, who was busy re-applying the charms that usually kept the classroom door locked. Nott stood about, his eyes wandering aimlessly through the dark corridor. For a frightful moment, he looked directly at the spot where Hermione’s eyes were and stayed staring at it. She gasped softly, but he hadn’t actually seen her and looked away a moment later.

Once Rosier had completed his task, he motioned for for the other two to follow him, and started to lead their group down the hallway away from Hermione, towards where she knew Slughorn’s office was.

As her heartbeat slowed back to normal after the panic of nearly being found out again that night, she considered whether she should follow after them and attempt to spy some more. She still wasn’t quite sure what they were up to. They were looking for something or other, some marking on stones in the dungeon, but she couldn’t for the life of her figure out what that might mean. There was a chance listening to their conversation would give her more clues. On the other hand, she was probably pushing her luck, and wasn’t sure if she could count on getting through a third close encounter without being found out. Besides, her eyelids were in danger of drooping closed and she was having trouble staying focused on anything, really. The long night at the party, the effects of the alcohol, and the lateness of the hour were all combining to make her dead on her feet. Deciding she’d had enough, she turned around and started heading in the opposite direction from the boys, back to the Slytherin Common room and to sleep.

—0—

The next morning, Hermione slept much later than normal, and by the time she rolled out of bed Lucretia informed her that it lunch was about to be served. She thanked her friend and then proceeded to get herself cleaned up and dressed for the day.

As she went about her routine, she thought over the events of the previous night. The party had been nothing compared to what she’d done afterwards. Thanks to Electra’s surprising generosity, the Marauder's Map was now stored in a hidden compartment in her trunk. _And_ she’d managed to sneak past Tom Riddle and spy on his minions as they worked their nefarious plot… whatever that might be. She’d hoped that once she’d gotten a good night’s sleep and the alcohol had worn off, the answer to the questions she had regarding their activities would be clear, but no such luck.

She should probably go talk to Electra about it, Hermione mused, surprising herself when the thought didn’t cause the feelings of dread and distaste she was used to with their interactions. Surly Electra would be interested in hearing about the advantages Hermione had already gained with her gift, and she was sure to have thoughts about what she’d witnessed. Maybe they would actually be open and discuss things, like a team. Or something.

She did wonder how Electra would react to hearing about how the drunken Hermione had taken a fairly large risk and was nearly caught a couple of times. Now that she was sober, she herself was questioning the intelligence behind her decisions last night. She’d been standing very close to the doorway of the classroom; the boys could have suddenly stepped out and run right into her without her having any time to react. And all Riddle would have had to do was _actually_ cast that spell, and she’d have been done for. While she excused herself a little on that one, since she’d only been trying to avoid being caught, she shouldn’t have allowed herself to become so caught up in whatever problem the map was having. She could have just gone back to the common room as soon as she had an opening and avoided the whole thing… Well, it was no matter. What’s done was done, and she hadn’t been found out, so all was well.

By the time she finished getting ready, she found the dorms to be vacant, and assumed the common room would be as well with everyone gone for lunch. Hermione left her room and went down the stairs, thinking to go to the Great Hall and join them; she was rather hungry. Just as she was about to exit the common room, she heard the sound of someone clearing their throat, and spun around.

Riddle was sitting in his usual chair next to the fire, his legs crossed in front of him and leaning his head on his hand propped up on the armrest. His other hand was in a fist and resting in his lap, clenching something she couldn’t identify. His expression was more closed off and guarded than usual, especially since he’d started trying to befriend her, and that immediately put her on high alert.

She forced a smile. “Good morning Riddle. Can I help you with something?”

He raised one eyebrow. “Morning, Miss Temple? It’s well past noon.”

“Well, good afternoon then,” she said, not having to fake the slightly confused tone in her voice. What was he up to?

He abruptly pushed himself up and came to stand in front of her with his hands behind his back. “You slept rather late,” he stated. His voice was almost… thoughtful. “Did you get to bed later, for some reason?”

 _Fuck_. He knew. She must have had some sort of physical reaction that gave her away because his eyes narrowed and his voice grew much more suspicious.

“Yes, you were out late. Past curfew, I suspect, and wandering the dungeons. Do you have any idea how many school rules you were breaking?”

Hermione opened her mouth, ready to deny everything, but stopped. She had no idea how sure he was of his accusations, if he had any proof or not. Tom Riddle was anything but stupid, and she was willing to bet his shrewdness would let him realize her ruse. If she lied, there was a good chance he would know it, and as far as he knew what reasons did she have to lie to him? They were supposed to be befriending each other, after all. Perhaps if she gave him a modified version of the truth, that would be enough to throw him off her trail.

“Perhaps I’ve broken one or two more than you’ve counted in your estimation, Riddle,” she finally said, keeping her voice low. She made a show of glancing around the common room before leaning a bit closer so she could murmur, “Electra and I had a bit of a drink last night after my party, you see. We were celebrating me coming of age, and lost track of time. On my way back to the dormitories, I was not… thinking clearly.”

Riddle stared at her for a long moment; she could almost see the wheels turning in his brain as he tried to figure out whether to believe her or not. “I was patrolling the dungeons last night after curfew,” he finally said, his voice doubtful. “Why did I not see you?”

Hermione allowed a wide grin to spread across her face. “Simple: I heard you and the other Prefect walking around, and decided to go the other way to the common room. Electra told me not to get caught while drunk, so I avoided you.” The half-truths fell smoothly from lips, and after a second she was pleased to see Riddle’s posture relax as he seemed to accept her story.

“Well, as this was your first infraction, I see no reason to take any points.”

Hermione snorted. “I’d like to see you try without any proof. All you have is my confession, which I could easily deny.”

Riddle smirked. “I wouldn’t be so sure of that, Miss Temple.” He drew his hand out from behind his back and opened his hand to reveal what he’d had hidden earlier. She gasped. Lying in his palm was the diamond comb from Lucretia that she’d been wearing at the party. “I found this on the floor, far from where any students should have been last night.”

It was a damn good thing she hadn’t tried to flat-out lie! He’d likely have lost all respect for her, as well as whatever seeds of trust she may have planted, and she certainly wouldn’t have earned either back anytime soon.

“Thank you for finding it,” she eventually said, reaching out and taking it from his hand. She slipped it into one of her pockets (which she was now never going to be without!) and smiled thinly. “Well, I’m famished. I did miss breakfast. So, I’m going to go…” she gestured towards the exit and started inching away from Riddle.

“I’m headed there too,” Riddle said and held out his arm. “Allow me to accompany you.”

She saw no reason to reject him, so she accepted his offer, and the two of them began to head towards the Great Hall.

Once they started walking, he glanced at her and said, “By the way, did you happen to swear out loud at any point you can remember?”

She nodded sheepishly. “I ended up becoming a bit… disoriented, and ended up walking into a wall.”

“Greengrass’ rat,” he muttered, and then chuckled softly, shaking his head. “Louisa dragged me through half the dungeon looking for you after she heard that.”

“Oh? Then I’m very sorry for interrupting your routine.”

“Don’t be, Miss Temple,” he said, glancing at her out of the corner of his eye and smiling slightly. “It’s only been a few weeks, but routine patrols are already becoming quite dull. Your misadventures at least provided a bit of excitement last night.”  

Hermione raised her eyebrows. “Well in that case, you’re welcome,” she said, feeling a bit emboldened by her successful duping of Tom Riddle. “Perhaps I’ll make a point of stumbling about the dungeons past curfew more often, to relieve you of your boredom.” Was it alright for her to have such a teasing tone with him?

Her brief worry vanished when Riddle smirked and said, “As a Prefect, I couldn’t possibly condone such behavior. I would suggest, however, that the next time you’d like to get drunk with your cousin, you warn me beforehand, and I might just happen to suggest to my patrol partner that we check the far side of the dungeons very thoroughly.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” she replied with a small smile. The expression melted off her face the instant she realized what had just happened, though.  

She’d just casually teased Tom Riddle, and he’d teased back. The world had truly gone mad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed :) 
> 
> As always, comments and kudos would be lovely; it was actually a couple of very low-key likes and comments on this fic last week that prompted me to start thinking about this chapter again, so you never know what might convince me or any other author to keep writing!!


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